If I Only Could
by Just Another Hell Raiser
Summary: SHIELD Agent Steve Rogers meets Tony, the barista at Malibu Point Coffee Bar, and is smitten. Only, he can't tell Tony what he does for a living. Keeping secrets eventually puts Tony in danger with SHIELD enemies, but Tony has a few secrets himself. (AU, but not as much as you'd think.)
1. Chapter 1

**This is inspired by a fanvideo I saw and adored by Firenstone_4221B. This video had a TON of clips not just from Marvel movies, but from other Chris Evans and RDJ movies as well. And I've quoted a lot of that video so I've got a list of all the sources she used, because copyright:**

 **A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints, Puncture, Fantastic Four 1 and 2, Iron Man 1, 2, 3, Due Date, Push, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, London, Playing It Cool, Wonder Boys, Route 50, Avengers 1, Captain America 1, Thor 1, Singing Detective, What's Your Number, Less Than Zero, Cellular.**

 **I don't own any of these. I personally suggest holding off watching Firenstone_4221B's beautiful video so you don't spoil the ending of this fic, but if you don't care then go to YouTube and add this:** **/watch?v=wyrWNhbHB_8. It will break your heart.**

 **Yes, so warnings: In this story there will be past abuse, rape, depictions of kidnapping and torture, and major character death (that, I promise, turns out okay guys). Pretty much par for the course with me, if we're being honest here. On that note, for anyone interested, I haven't given up on my other story and you can expect an update shortly. Enjoy!**

There was a crash across Steve's dingy apartment kitchen and then Tony was stomping toward him, rage bubbling behind brown eyes that pinned Steve to his own kitchen chair.

"Did you love me?"

Steve opened his mouth but no sound came out. Tony stared at him, visibly fuming.

"C'mon, lie to me and tell me you did. Make me feel like the piece of shit I am, DID YOU LOVE ME OR _NOT_!"

Steve gaped as he realized exactly where this was coming from, what Tony was talking about. His heart pounded in his ears and suddenly he was choking on his own breath. _Heknowsheknowsheknows_ –

"Just -" his voice cracked and he couldn't get anything out.

"ANSWER ME!"

The world crystalized. This was it. It was over, Tony was never going to forgive him for this and he had no excuses to give.

"Just give me a chance," he choked out. It was quiet and all Steve could really say, and more than he had the right to ask. Of course he loved Tony. But if anything had proven that Tony deserved better, it was this right here.

Tony was panting, staring at Steve like he was really seeing him for the first time. He shook his head in disgust and turned away. Steve watched as his shoulders bunched up and _fuck_ , this couldn't get any worse - he knew what Tony looked like when he was about to cry and tried to hold it back anyway. He'd faced him before, voice gentle as he told him it was okay not to shove it down all the time. He knew what his face looked like in moments like this, tortured and small, eyes glittering and mouth pressed hard.

Tony stayed like that for a while, and all he wanted to do was reach a hand out. Every tensed muscle, every uneven breath - he wanted to take it away, take it back, do it all again differently _. It wasn't supposed to end up like this._

Finally Tony spoke, his back still turned, and his voice was final and absolute.

"No."

Steve expected as much, but it still felt like a punch. He nodded and forced his voice to stay steady.

"Then if you run now, I won't tell them where you are, or where you're going."

There was a tiny pause - one small moment left for Steve to look at him, be with him, remember every curve and breath. And then Tony sped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

All at once that terrible pressure was gone, but the air had been sucked out the door when Tony slammed it and it was like Steve's childhood asthma had come back. The air was solid, hard, not breathable –

Steve stared at the door, where his entire future had just left him and was never coming back. At the flaking paint on the kitchen cabinets, the dull yellow of the walls, the listened to the ringing that pressed his ears. The silence felt like death.

It would give Steve nightmares every day for a week.

* * *

It figured.

He gripped his third cup of black coffee until his knuckles were white. He was trying not to grind his teeth, but _motherfucker_. He felt the heat on his face and knew he'd be bright red with humiliation for probably ever.

It fucking figured. The first time since Peggy that he puts himself out there and secures a date, and she's a no-show. He'd left work early, showered and dressed up in his best shirt for that girl, and headed over to this hipsterish coffee joint only to sit in the back corner for – he checked his watch – over an hour now. He replayed their conversation in his head. Maybe he'd missed something; he'd been awfully distracted by the shiny blond hair and the legs that never seemed to end. But no – _I'll be there_ , she'd said, then smiled at him sweetly.

His leg paused its anxious bounce for a minute - what if something had happened to her? An accident or a kidnapping or – no. No no no, Rogers. She was a doctor at a pediatric ward. She didn't _get_ kidnapped. She'd fallen asleep, or gotten swept up in the newest season of American Horror Story, or had just decided he wasn't worth the drive. Steve needed to get better at separating his work life from everyone else's. His leg started bouncing again.

Ever since he became a SHIELD agent – and to a lesser extent, since he joined the military – he'd almost exclusively handled high-risk cases. Bombings, kidnappings, assassinations, and hostage situations were the norm; flirting on the other hand, not so much. Steve had really been _trying_ with this Sharon girl. He held back a sigh, glaring at his coffee like it had bad-mouthed his mother. He wasn't big on self-pity, but _gosh_.

"Now who in their right mind would stand up a guy like you?"

Steve looked up. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even heard the chair scrape the floor. A man sat there, elbows on the table, smirking at him.

"What?"

The smile turned wicked. "I said you're hot. What's her name?"

Steve blinked. The man across him had messy black hair and big brown eyes that pierced somehow despite their color. A smirk, Steve noticed, looked devastatingly good on him, as if he was born to joke and mock. The name tag on his chest read _Hi, my name is TONY_. The barista who'd served him his three coffees – how had he not realized?

He sighed, dragging his eyes away. "Doesn't matter really."

"Doesn't matter...her name, or that you're hot? I mean, yeah, I guess both in this case, sorry about that by the way, but clarification is generally cool regardless."

Steve frowned at him. The barista'd just decided to abandon his post at the cheerfully colored counter to invade Steve's space? "Her name doesn't - I apologize, but it's not really your business."

The man only leaned forward, eyes dancing in the ambient cafe lighting like he knew some secret Steve didn't. "Oh but c'mon, it's nearly midnight and you're my only customer left, looking like someone pants'ed you and stole your lunch money. My shift doesn't end till 6am and I need something to do – I might as well try to help Tall Blonde and Handsome out of his slump."

Steve huffed, "I'm not sure you'd be able to help me."

The barista's grin turned wicked again, and he leaned forward. "That so? Five bucks says you're wrong. I'm remarkably helpful to beautiful, sculpted men. But, you know, practice makes perfect, you'd be doing me a favor if you let me help you out with whatever's eating you."

Steve's mouth did not fall open. He couldn't stop the blush heating his cheeks though - he felt it. The man's eyes pinned him down, and Steve cleared his throat.

"I don't do one-night stands, mister. Not really that kinda guy."

Brown eyes switched. Tony's face lost its suggestive smirk and danced with mirth again, and Steve reeled a little from the mental whiplash. He pointed at his chest and smiled, flashing perfect teeth. "Hey, I clearly have a name, so use that thing. Not the _mister_ bullshit."

Steve blinked. "Tony."

Tony looked up. "Yes? And what's your name, hot stuff?"

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused by now. Probably both? "Uh - Steve. Steve Rogers."

Tony stretched his hand across the table. "Pleasure to meet you Steve."

He surprised himself by taking it. Tony's hand was warm and calloused. It slotted into his own perfectly. "Likewise."

He was more surprised when he realized he wasn't lying.

Tony was looking at him again with that spark in his eyes. His lashes were dark and thick and framed his face almost delicately. "So why plan a date this late then? Not exactly the best time for romancing in the PG way."

The corners of his mouth lifted of their own volition, and Steve thought that maybe the night wouldn't be all bad.

"I work late, and she - works at a hospital, so it works - well, should've worked, for the both of us."

Black hair fell into Tony's eyes as he cocked his head, and Tony didn't seem to notice.

"What do you do?"

Steve smiled a little. "If I tell you..."

Tony jerked back in disbelief rolling his eyes. "Oh no, do not finish that sentence, Rogers." After a minute he blinked. "Wait, are you serious."

Steve laughed. "Sort of. What about you? Graveyard shift at a cafe all you have going on?"

Years of training caught the split second hesitation, the darkening of that spark in Tony's eyes, immediately smothered with an easy grin. "Not so much, this place means free coffee and something to do for the hours I'll be awake anyway. I don't really sleep."

Steve's brows furrowed. "At all?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I mean no, eventually I drop for a couple hours, but on a day-to-day basis I don't make a habit of it."

"Why?"

Tony shrugged, staring at a spot past Steve's shoulder. His lips twitched up. "Its a waste of time, got better things to do."

"Yeah, like what?"

Tony smirked. "Like chatting up modelesque blonde types, for starters."

Something hot pulled at Steve's gut, but at least he didn't blush this time. Tony leaned in, looking conspiratorial. "I'm not- am I misreading this? Because, Steve, sugar bear, if I am and you don't go for the male persuasion then I'll back off with the come-ons - no that's not true, I won't but I'll at least make an effort."

"I - no. You're not misinterpreting things. You do come on quite strong, though."

Tony, shrugged, but he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Steve didn't think he'd ever seen a set of straighter teeth. "Well, no one's ever said I aim to please. I'm something of an opportunist."

Steve smiled. "So you came here, not to comfort a lonely customer who'd just gotten stood up - but purely to proposition me in the slight chance I might be less than straight?"

Tony pouted. "The way you look certainly wouldn't discourage me, so."

"I see. You're only after me for my body."

"Sure."

"So you don't really want to get to know me at all?"

"What? Where are you getting that from, Rogers. I'm a materialist, your body's also your mind and soul, and I wanna know all that shit. You, my friend, I wanna get _well_ acquainted with."

Steve leaned forward a little, amused. "What is it you'd like to know?"

Tony smiled. "You go to college?"

"Yes, after my time in the military I spent a few years at a university studying art."

"How long were you in the military?"

"Six years."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-four"

"Does your job include art?"

He snorted. "No."

"Why the laugh?"

"Because it doesn't include art."

"Do you kill people?"

"Twice daily." That got a laugh out of Tony. Steve felt a little breathless at the sight.

"What about you? What are you like?"

Tony looked over Steve's shoulder again, fingers tapping in the table as he shrugged. "Not much to report. Went to college, got some odd jobs, kept odd hours."

"Where did you go to school?"

"MIT."

Steve blinked. "What?"

Tony looked at him. "Yeah. Graduated when I was seventeen."

"Seventeen...from MIT?" Tony nodded.

"So you've gotta be a genius then."

He smirked holding his hands up in a guilty-as-charged gesture. "Certified."

Steve whistled. "So then what, again, are you doing working here and not - I dunno - designing giant robots or something?"

Tony sighed in mock exasperation. "I already told you, I'm an insomniac."

"But - here?" He gestured around at the beige carpets, cheerful orange walls and smooth jazz crooning over the intercom. Tony shrugged.

"I like coffee."

He shook his head, staring. "You're…weird."

"I prefer eccentric, but I'll take it." He pointed at the empty cup in Steve's hands. "Want another?"

"What? Oh sure."

"On the house." Tony uncurled himself from the chair and walked back toward the counter. There was a grace in his steps, not militaristic or predatory like he was used to, and somehow more mesmerizing for it. Tony had an incredible ass.

Steve tore his eyes away and listened to the quiet bustle behind the counter. A moment later Tony pushed a steaming cup across the table.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it soldier boy. Hey, so, I've been thinking, this has been fun and you are gorgeous, whadaya think of doing this again sometime? Maybe even when the sun's out?"

Steve thought about it. "I should get off work by noon next Tuesday."

Tony beamed and a breath caught in Steve's throat. "Tuesday noon it is then. Should I pick you up?"

"You don't even know where I live." Tony's eyes sparkled.

"I'm good at finding people. Even if you didn't tell me I think I'd manage."

"That's a little creepy, Tony."

"Says the guy who kills people."

"That was a joke!"

"Sure, muscles."

Steve rolled his eyes, and pulled a napkin out of the holder. "Got a pen?"

Tony quirked and eyebrow, but got up and walked to the counter anyway. "Old fashioned much?" Steve just shrugged with a smile, accepting the pen and clicking the end of it.

"So I live in Brooklyn. Hope you don't mind the drive." He held the napkin out to him, and Tony eyed it for a second before smiling.

"Just set it down, I'll grab it. So what do you wanna do on your first date since getting stood up?"

"Way to remind me."

"Hey, I'm no one's babysitter. But seriously, what're you thinking. Lunch?"

Steve nodded. "Let's go to Central Park."

Tony leaned forward with an easy grin, resting his head on folded arms. "Ooh, should've pinned you as a romantic." Steve laughed and sort of wanted to draw him.

"I don't know about that...but I try to show my dates a good time, and I love my city." Tony's nose wrinkled theatrically.

"You one of those patriotic types?"

"Yes."

"Wow, not an ounce of remorse."

"Are you not?"

Tony smirked at him. "I doubt everything. Not good with authority."

It hit Steve hard, again, that the man across from him was hopelessly beautiful. It was in the skeptical quirk of his brows, and the intensity of his eyes. Steve didn't think he'd ever be able to look away. His voice came out softer than he'd intended.

"Oh come on, you can't doubt _everything_."

Tony grinned cheekily. "Sure do. With luck I might rub off in you."

He plucked the napkin that Steve hadn't handed to him, and held it up like a prize. He beamed. "I think we'll do well together, Steve."

Steve grinned, watching him.

He couldn't help but agree.

* * *

 _Steve, what the fuck is going on? I've called four times now. Pick up your goddamn phone. I'm getting worried._

Message deleted. Next message.

 _Official SHIELD voice memo: Rogers, we need you to report. I have no clue if that Stark kid is still a threat to SHIELD and when I don't know something, it's time for people to get fired. Has he been apprehended? Have this information ready for me yesterday._

Message deleted. Next message.

 _Steve, for fuck's sake, pick UP –_

Message deleted. Next message.

 _Steve, its Natasha. Was Tony Stark...YOUR Tony? Did you know? I need to know if you were compromised throughout this mission._

Message deleted. Next message.

 _Steve. Why didn't you tell me about Tony? I'll be over at your apartment with ice cream and Jack Daniels in fifteen._

Message deleted. End of new messages.


	2. Chapter 2

The door buzzed as Steve slid his key card over the scanner. He took familiar steps through sterile halls as the people around him bustled, hands full of papers, files, and the occasional scientist's vial of corrosive mystery substance. He was running late, and Fury was going to tan his hide after he realized that one of his top agents – who, by the way, was _never late_ – was not in fact dead or dying at the hands of some terrorist and was, rather, just running late for everyday reasons.

Well for other people, they would be considered everyday reasons. Steve, however, had never before been late on account of spending an extra slice of the clock this morning getting ready for his date, at noon, with one of the most beautiful men he'd ever laid eyes on. He entered the conference room working hard to smother his giddy smile.

"The fuck _took_ you so long, Captain?"

Steve tried not to blanch, glancing at the clock above Colonel Fury's head. Two minutes late. Oh lord, he was _in_ for it.

He stood tall. "I apologize, Colonel. It won't happen again."

His boss's single uncovered eye fixed him with a glare that could peel paint off cars in the SHIELD garage five floors down. Steve resolutely did _not_ gulp. Finally, Fury gave a grudging nod.

"Damn right it won't. Take a seat."

He hurried to do so, tucking in next to Romanov. The redhead shot him a subtle look that clearly read "Where the fuck you been?" to people who knew her well. He shook his head at her, then turned his attention back to Fury.

"Coulson, report on Japan."

Agent Phil Coulson was a thin haired, middle-aged man with a deceptively genial face. His voice might have been even more unassuming, putting people at ease when, for all intents and purposes, he was the last person you should ever feel comfortable around. He could probably snap necks with his toes.

"The operation was a success. The asset maintained his cover despite attempts to reveal or make him. Oyakata is still alive – the asset, as planned, disobeyed orders and refused to assassinate him."

Steve had no clue what had happened in Japan, or who Coulson's asset was – it was customary, SHIELD's top agents reporting directly to Fury about the most high-risk (and accordingly most thoroughly classified) operations, all in each other's presence. It was the golden rule of SHIELD in general, but especially of the agents in this room: thou shalt not ask about each other's missions. And no one in this room had gotten this far because they took SHIELD policy lightly.

"Asset yet unaware we've got eyes on him?"

"He has no idea, sir."

"Barton, report on New Mexico."

And it went on like this, with a bored-looking Clint explaining the highlights of what sounded like an incredibly bizarre operation. Steve couldn't really focus; every time he blinked, intelligent brown eyes pierced into him with that knowing look. He wanted to make Tony laugh, to see him smile. He could only hope that he wouldn't make a fool of himself at lunch today; he could feel himself getting tongue-tied and stupid now just thinking about him.

"Romanov, report on Morocco."

"Target neutralized. No witnesses. The body will be found in the Dades River on Thursday." Steve blinked.

"How did you time that?"

The Golden Rule might have seemed an inch from being broken, but everyone in the room knew what this was. Natasha had worked in the field longer than any of them, and Steve sort of saw her as a mentor – a terrifying, homicidal mentor. She looked at him.

"I tied the body down with salt weights. Slow dissolving. In forty-eight hours the corpse will be weight-free."

Steve nodded, and turned his attention back to the front.

"Rogers, report."

Target neutralized. One witness, a henchman, also neutralized. Henchman's body was moved to the fourth floor of the building to prevent any forensics backtracking, otherwise untampered with the room, obviously left spotless and wiped clean. I threw the target's body in a drainage ditch five miles out after dislodging my bullet from the target's head."

Fury looked almost impressed, but it looked sarcastic on his face. "Thorough."

"Only for you, sir."

Clint snorted, slipping him a grin from across the table.

There was a soft knock at the entrance, and an agent with an immaculate, newly-pressed suit and tie peeked in through the crack in the door.

"U-um, Director Fury?" He spoke softly and his voice wavered.

Fury shifted his glare, currently customized for one Agent Rogers, onto the nervous man.

"There – there's been a situation, sir?"

"Is that a _question?"_

The agent's face turned beet-red, and he stared down at his polished shoes. He pushed thick glasses up his nose, and Steve sort of felt terrible for him.

"N-no sir, there has been a situation with the servers, sir." His voice was practically a whisper by the end of his sentence.

Fury's, on the other hand, was deadly. "What kinda situation are we talking about here?"

The agent, looking ready to bolt (or flee the country, which'd be slightly more effective in evading Fury's, well, fury) ducked his head low like he was steeling himself.

"We've. Been hacked."

Steve had worked under SHIELD over seven years now. Of all the horrific and bizarre things he'd seen and done, he couldn't recall ever having heard a sentence like that come out of a SHIELD agent's mouth. Now he saw where the guy's terror was coming from.

Fury seemed almost as caught off guard, staring at the man (who was actually shaking with fear) by the door.

" _Excuse me_?"

"I – yes."

" _Yes?_ "

"Yes, SHIELD has been hacked. We have been so far unable to trace the location of the hacker, and they bypassed our firewalls in less than four minutes."

Natasha was frowning. "That doesn't make sense, no one has ever made themselves untraceable."

The agent looked at Natasha like she'd just offered him free poison-free lunch. "That's what we've been trying to understand as well."

Fury stood. "I want all hands on deck. If you know how to hack, you're on this motherfucker. Romanov, you're with me. The rest of you, fuck off for the day. We need to focus on this."

With that, he stormed out of the conference room, the trembling junior agent and an unruffled Natasha in his wake.

Steve blinked.

"What…the fuck."

"Classy, Barton."

"C'mon Hill, you can't tell me you've seen this shit before."

Hill was one of those frighteningly competent people who, fortunately, hadn't set their minds to world domination or genocide or something equally awful, because they could probably get it done in a number of hours. Her every word and movement spoke of a half-casual, probably subconscious efficiency that he'd never seen in anyone else, not even Coulson. Steve had never talked to her outside of work; on principle, she seemed to shirk human interaction unless it was streamlined through work or missions. Steve looked across the table at her now, and admittedly his heart gave a fearful little stutter when he saw that _Maria Hill_ had taken some time to look unnerved.

"So this is serious, huh?"

Clint snorted, his unease betrayed in tiny ways despite casually leaning back in his chair. "Bit of an understatement, Captain. Whoever this hacker is – when SHIELD tracks them down they'll either be chopped into small pieces and burned for good measure… _or_ they'll be recruited and brought over to our side. No one's ever done this before."

Coulson rose from his seat. "Well you heard Fury, everyone, we need to leave the premises for the day. And it's barely ten a.m., let's take this as a good thing."

Clint got up with an exaggerated groan. "Yeah, doubt SHIELD will implode without my archery assisting the code repair."

Steve followed the three out the door, weaving in and out of panicked intel operatives and folding themselves into the elevator. Coulson and Hill got off on different floors, and suddenly Clint was facing him with a skeptical brow.

"So. Who's got you so happy today?"

"What?"

"You were audibly sighing during the entire meeting."

"I was not."

" _Audibly_."

Steve tried not to smile at the reminder. He had less than two hours now.

Clint pointed like a bratty little kid. "See! You just did it again. What, you got a date or something?"

Steve said nothing.

"Oh, so you do. When?"

"Noon today."

"What's she like?"

Steve looked at him sideways. " _He's_ an MIT graduate I met at a coffee shop a few nights ago."

Underneath his sarcasm and generally laid-back attitude, Clint Barton had an exceptionally high level of training, probably the highest aside from Romanov. So Steve knew how much Clint's expression of surprise was intentional – for Steve more so than for himself.

"Huh, didn't know that about you. What's he look like?"

"He's –" Steve looked past Clint, biting back a smile. "He's got black hair and brown eyes."

Clint smirked. "You've got something on your face Rogers, it looks…" He made a show of squinting at him. "Looks like emotion, get that shit off before Fury sees."

Steve smiled as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, the garage welcoming them on the other side. The both walked out and Clint punched his shoulder.

"But really, it's gonna go great I'm sure, stop worrying."

Steve mock glared at him, and saw Clint's sly grin.

"I never said I was nervous."

Clint tapped his head. "Spy, remember? Get with it, Steve." He started walking away, presumably in the direction of his car.

Steve chuckled. "See you tomorrow, Barton."

Clint didn't look back. "Wanna hear the full report tomorrow, Rogers!"

A smile slipped onto his face as he turned and walked to his car. He pulled his phone out, and typed in the number Tony had given him right before they'd parted ways the other night.

 _Hi Tony, work got out early so I was wondering, would you like to meet up before noon?_ _Steve._

His phone buzzed with a response in seconds, and his stomach did a happy flip.

 _Eager are we? Sure thing muscles, let me finish up here then I'll come get you_

Steve's grin was so wide it was probably medically unhealthy for his face. _Where is here?_

Again, the response was almost instant. _If I told you, I'd have to kill you._

Steve shook his head. He opened his driver's side door and climbed in.

* * *

Bucky had almost broken down Steve's front door when he finally showed up, ice cream and liquor at the ready as promised. He'd pinned Steve with this _look,_ this – god, it was like Bucky knew everything but he didn't, he _really_ didn't understand this one. And Steve told him that, a little bit petulantly, five shots and two bowls of mint choco chip later.

"You don't – Bucky I know you think you get it, man, but. You don't, so."

"Okay, Stevie."

"No, I'm serious though. This whole thing, it's just…so _messed_ _up_."

Bucky leaned back further into Steve's old coach, the leather groaning and the TV blaring some rerun neither were really watching. He held out the Jack, liquid inside splashing against the glass, and Steve took it.

"Whadaya mean? You haven't told me much about what's goin' on here."

Steve shook his head, leaning forward to poor a shot into the glass on the coffee table. "I can't really, it's – it's classified."

He _felt_ rather than _saw_ Bucky hold back an eye-roll. They'd grown up together, him and Buck, and they'd enlisted together. But the years went on, and Steve fell deeper and deeper in with the military-types while Bucky got a taste and got the hell out when he could. He'd never fully approved of Steve's decision to work for SHIELD, even after having all these years to get used to the idea.

"Alright, well what _can_ you tell me? You were in deep for this guy, and I actually liked him. What happened?"

Steve sighed, tossing back another shot. His world felt loose and light and he was still miserable. He sort of wanted to cry. His voice came out scratchy, and he told himself it was because of the whiskey.

"I was…keeping secrets from him, ya know, about what it is that I do."

Bucky shifted a bit. "So – what, he found out about your job at SHIELD, and bailed? I mean that's…understandable on his part, Steve, you can't hold that against him."

Steve shook his head. "No no, I wish that was it…like I said it's classified, but that's at least a big part of it. I fucked up, Buck, I didn't do right by him." His vision blurred, and he sniffed a little.

Groaning leather let him know Bucky had leaned forward, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Nah man, come on. Is there…anything you can do, to repay him or somethin'?"

Steve shook his head, closing his eyes. "No. He's never coming back." His voice cracked and he bowed his head low.

And it was true, wasn't it? It was like a hole opened up somewhere deep inside him – it felt like Tony was dead. He was never going to see him again – he would never get to talk to him, or make him laugh, or listen to him rant about the molecular intricacies of robotics engineering at 4AM when he couldn't sleep. And it hurt all the more because Steve couldn't talk about what he'd lost when Tony had walked out that door. "We broke up" didn't cut it. Tony was gone, and he would never see him or hear about him ever again.

He let out a sigh that threatened to turn itself into a sob, and his hand tightened dangerously around the shot glass. He heard Bucky stand.

"Alright, gimme that –" Bucky snatched the glass away, refilling it and shoving it back into Steve's hand, along with his half-finished bowl of ice cream. "Enough of this brooding bullshit, you don't need that right now. Drink your alcohol and eat your dessert."

Steve looked at him blearily, his sharp brown eyes and overgrown hair. "You're always babysittin' me."

Bucky nodded without missing a beat. "Damn straight, Stevie. Who else's gonna do it?"

Steve looked down, considering the question a little too seriously. "Well no one, I guess."

Buck nodded in what Steve supposed was a rather self-satisfied manner. "You may not be the twerp you were when we were kids, but you still need someone watching your back. You've nursed me back to emotional health after messy breakups, so now I'm doin' the same for you."

Steve nodded, content with that response, and felt his eyes drifting shut against his will. He suspected almost-crying took a lot out of somebody, and the whiskey wasn't exactly hyping him up either. He was feeling better though – in an artificial, self-medicated sort of way if he had to guess, but at least for right now he didn't feel like his heart was getting ripped out his chest.

He roused a little (when had he drifted off?) when Bucky spoke, his voice strangely hesitant. "Hey Steve – I know you said it's classified, but I – I really liked Tony, man, and I sorta gotta know…did you – I dunno. Were you like. Assigned to, arrest him or, or kill him or something? Was he a target of yours?"

Steve was three-quarters asleep at this point, but the SHIELD golden rule ( _thou shalt not ask about each other's missions_ ) stayed hard and true, a blaring neon sign in his otherwise cloudy, heartbroken and intoxicated brain. He sighed, eyes closing.

"Classified."

And he fell asleep.

* * *

 _I'm here_

Steve's heart leapt up to his throat. He took a deep breath and wasted no time getting the hell out of his apartment, grabbing his wallet and a jacket on the way out the door. He climbed down the steps and found himself in front of a nondescript black Toyota, engine rumbling. He bent down to peer into the passenger side window, sure Tony was the driver but bracing himself in case he had the wrong car and was creeping out a random stranger.

But no. Inside, there was Tony, staring back at him with a growing smile. It was reassuring somehow, as if deep down Steve had worried that Tony was something his subconscious had made up. No part of him could ever fabricate that look Tony had in his eyes right now, visible even through the dark tint of the glass.

He pulled the door open and folded himself in, turned to the driver and smiling.

"Hey." Tony was looking back at him with a smirk.

"Hey yourself." His voice did things to Steve's composure. Tony had on a tight Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, and it probably would've looked sloppy on anyone else. But the man oozed charisma and some sort of easy class that pulled it off and dressed it up somehow. Tony leaned back in the driver's seat, wrist draped over the wheel, and he was looking Steve up and down in obvious appreciation.

"Wow. So, you look nice." Steve laughed at his tone.

"You do as well, Tony." Tony shrugged.

"I thought we were gonna do something simple like hotdogs in the park, but I don't think it makes much sense for you to eat anything but fine dining, looking the way you do. It's just a waste of proper aesthetics when you think about it, your face-body combination would far surpass the décor they've got going on at most of those joints. I wanna put flowers in your hair or something."

Steve laughed. "Flowers in my hair?"

Tony's lips twitched up in a brief smile. "Okay so maybe I didn't think that one through. I tried to think of something I could do to you in public that would convey my appreciation for your good looks without getting me arrested."

He smiled and did _not_ let his imagination run wild at that comment. "So where would you like to eat lunch, then, if street vendors and five-star restaurants are off the list? Because yes, five-star restaurants are off the list."

Tony pouted. "Fine. Well, you tell me. I'm not from here."

Steve cocked his head. "Where are you from?"

Tony shrugged in a way that hinted half-honesty at best. "California."

"Well in that case I'll run the show today – there's a great Italian place on 56th and 9th that I think you'll like, and it's close to the park."

"Italian for lunch?"

"Yes indeed."

"Alright, I dig it. We're doing this. Atlantic?"

"That'd be the quickest route, I think."

Tony pulled into the main road and settled in to the New York traffic like he'd spent every day of his life in this city. He weaved expertly through traffic, smoothly avoiding the worst of it and riding the waves of momentary fast lanes before they disappeared while eighties rock played softly through the speakers. Tony's hands were smaller than Steve's, but solid, like they worked with tools a lot. He tore his eyes away from them and looked out the front windshield instead.

"So if you were from California, what brought you to this neck of the woods?"

Tony glanced at him with a smirk, and then he focused on the road again. "Fresh start, really. I wanted a clean slate. California's a shitty place."

Steve laughed. "Not from what I've heard."

Tony changed lanes and grumbled, "yeah, well it's not for everyone. Pretty beaches, pretty people, sure, but then you've got the superficiality to watch out for. Not to mention the _sunburns_ , god. What about you, always lived here?"

He nodded. "Born and raised."

Tony smiled in a way that seemed half-mocking, but also warm somehow. "I see. This is home then?"

"This – yeah." Steve smiled at him. "This is home."

"Favorite memory?"

Tony sounded playful and off-hand about it, but something in his voice said this was important. He wracked his brain for a particularly good one. "When I was fifteen. I was a really scrawny kid back then –"

"– yeah?" Tony's eyebrows were raised like he never would've guessed. Steve chuckled.

"Oh yeah, I didn't start looking like this until after I joined the service, they put me on diets and beefed me up and all that – but when I was fifteen, I was pretty small. And my best friend growing up, Bucky, he was bigger than me and he always loved getting into trouble. I never argued with him much about all the pranks, seeing as he saved my skinny ass in street fights more times'n I can count."

Tony laughed, and Steve repressed a delighted shiver.

"So one day, he had this brilliant idea, right? He comes up and says 'Steve, man, I think we gotta egg Mr. Bennett's house.' Mr. Bennett was that sorta stereotypical grouchy neighbor you always see in the movies? He was such a bitter old fuck."

This got another laugh as Tony switched lanes.

"Anyway so we grab our carton, do the shit stupid kids do, covered his whole house in eggs – I mean looking back on it now I feel kinda bad, but anyway – all of a sudden this huge dog wiggles through this hole under his backyard fence. Like, the crabby neighbor has an _actual_ junkyard-style dog, and it was _pissed_ like you wouldn't believe. Bucky and I ran off in different directions, but when Buck realized the dog had zeroed in on me he must've doubled back. He found me – dunno how, I was _way_ down the black at this point – and I was basically backed into a corner, but he distracted the dog and we both managed to move around it. Then we _flew,_ I don't think I've run that fast since. We didn't stop running until we hit my doorstep. We both stayed at my place that night, and every time it got too quiet we'd hear that fucking dog in our heads." He laughed a little. "I don't really know why that's my favorite memory, but it is. Maybe 'cause it shows Buck and I had that whole 'live together, die together' mentality long before we enlisted."

Tony's voice came out a little softer than before. "He was in the army with you?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah, got out around the same time as me too. God, that's a whole other batch of stories to tell, not all of them pretty of course. But he's – kind of always been around, you know?"

Tony hummed in a neutral sort of way, but he sounded interested. "How did the two of you become friends if he was the big tough guy and you were – I can only guess – the scrawny artistic type?" The amusement in his voice wasn't lost on Steve.

He smiled. "Because scrawny artistic me never backed down from fights, even if it meant I got my ass handed to me. I'm still not sure why, but that seemed to pique his interest. I was like a big guy in a little body."

Tony laughed at that, his smile big and warm. "So now the only difference is that your personality and your body match."

"I win _all_ my fights now."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side. You're body's like a Greek god's, it'd be cool if I just got the sexy parts of that and not the vengeful parts."

Steve laughed. "Your chances are looking good so far."

Tony released a melodramatic sigh of relief, clutching at his chest. "Oh thank god for that. At least I can die happy."

The drive continued, and Steve found himself telling Tony about the military, his brief stint in college, random stories with Bucky – telling this man everything about himself seemed effortless for some reason. And every time he got Tony to smile, or to laugh, his insides heated up just a little more until he felt like he was full of helium. His brown eyes stayed pinned to the unpredictable New York streets for the most part, but Tony's side profile wasn't something he'd had the chance to appreciate that first night with him. His skin was a lovely light tan, and it made his dark hair and lashes stand out and _wow,_ this man was beautiful.

Before he knew it they were pulling into the parking lot and climbing out. Steve walked around the car to Tony, who got up in his personal space and smiled up at him. Something warm pulled at Steve's stomach when he realized that Tony was considerably shorter than him, a good five inches at least. Tony was looking up through his lashes. Steve made a note to memorize this expression and commit it to paper later. Colored pencils, maybe? Charcoal?

Steve had always preferred not to kiss people until the end of the first date. It was polite, not to mention it was prudent to get to know someone a little before involving yourself _that way,_ even in such an innocent sense as kissing. Over the years it became less of a personal preference and more of a rule. And Steve was _very_ good at following rules. But Tony, he oozed rebellion and doing things his way. And Steve wasn't sure if he could hold out with Tony looking up at him like that.

Suddenly Tony's smile widened. "What you starin' at, muscles? I look good enough to eat, clearly, but the way you talked up this Italian joint –" He waved generally in the building's direction without breaking eye contact. _Oh to hell with it,_ Steve thought.

"I mean this is world-class Yankee dining, and I don't know what to get here so you're gonna have to lead me along like a little kid – _mmph –"_

Steve yanked him forward and up and then Tony's lips were on his, warm and chapped and it was electric. Tony responded with great enthusiasm, grabbing onto the front of Steve's collared shirt and pulling him down with a little growl. Steve's hands went to the back of Tony's neck and around his waist as he slipped a tongue over Tony's lips, hungry for more contact.

It was leagues away from the soft, quiet, gentle first kiss his rules demanded. Steve mentally scrapped the whole goddamn thing.

Tony pulled back sooner than Steve would've liked, but the heat Tony pinned him with as he looked up was almost worth it.

"You're. Good at that."

Steve smiled at him a little breathlessly. It was only the first date and he already wanted Tony to look at him like that every day for the rest of his life. What was it about this man that drove Steve so crazy?

"What d'you say we go eat? Their linguini is to die for."

Tony leaned into him for one tiny, scorching moment before grinning wickedly and turning toward the front door.

"Hey, you're the one taking your sweet time. Not that _I_ mind, but c'mon, we should be punctual here. Keep up, Rogers."

He walked into the restaurant, leaving Steve to catch up. He shook his head with a dazed grin and followed.

He got the feeling it wouldn't be long before he was willing to follow Tony everywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

The drunken night in with Bucky had proven effective enough that Steve was more than willing to go for Round Two on his next day off work. In the meantime, yes, there was the manhunt to deal with along with a quick assassination he'd covered for Coulson while he was out of town for his nephew's graduation. Weird lives they led, where two such things could be combined on a Thursday.

But by Saturday, he'd informed Bucky that they ought to go bar-hopping and Bucky had heartily agreed. Steve swirled his beer around the smudged glass while he listened to Bucky's constant flirtations with some tall blonde or curvy brunette. It had been a week since Tony left. On Monday and Tuesday, Steve had reached a hand out to the other side of the bed before remembering that he'd never wake up next to Tony again. On Wednesday he'd considered staying home from work.

He didn't really want to be here, with Bucky and all these strangers; it was empty and not what he was looking for. But the thought of spending another night alone in his apartment was almost enough to spring tears in his eyes.

He just wanted Tony to come back.

He lifted his head as a pissed-looking blonde lady climbed up on the stool next to him and ordered a martini. She glanced over at him and did a double take, manicured brows raised.

"Bad night?" She had a pretty voice.

Steve looked down into his beer. "Bad week."

"What happened?"

"Breakup."

She hissed through her teeth. "Rough."

He nodded, listening to Bucky's never-ending refrain. The woman'd probably be set to go home with him in another two minutes, from how confident he sounded. He turned to the blonde lady.

"How are you, miss?"

She shrugged. "Just got dumped. Wasn't too serious, but that doesn't mean it's easy getting dumped."

He squinted at her then.

"Wait – are – _Sharon_?"

She blinked, and then a sort of horrified recognition lit up her face. " _Steve?_ "

"Yeah, pediatrics, right?"

"Yeah, I remember you. Hey listen, I'm really sorry about skipping out on coffee way back when, something came up, and –"

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It actually worked – worked out. At least – for a while. Met someone at that coffee shop."

Her brows furrowed. "The breakup?"

He nodded. "The person I was seeing, actually worked at that café, so…"

She giggled. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, that's just. Agh. Well you're welcome then. For as long as it lasted, anyway."

Steve scowled and emptied the rest of his glass. This conversation was depressing. "Yeah, guess so."

She nudged his shoulder. "Hey. The bar is where we drink our sorrows away. No sense in wasting time, right? Shots!"

Much tequila later, Bucky had come back to the bar after leaving with a girl, and Steve was ranting to Sharon, who nodded enthusiastically to every word.

"You know when you lose something so – so goddamned perfect for you, exactly what you need –"

"Yeah, I know what you mean, man!"

"– and something just so beautiful and – and god, I felt like he actually needed me, you know? He's been through so much stuff that he didn't deserve, and then he left right when I was starting to help him –"

"– wait, _he_?"

"– so even though we both made mistakes, and he's the one who walked away I feel so _guilty_ for it ending, like the part I played in all this might have – ruined him for good or something, you know?"

Sharon swayed in her chair. "Yeah. Was he like – a druggie?"

He shook his head. "No, he didn't do drugs, he didn't _do_ anything bad, he had bad things done to _him._ "

She frowned into the next undignified burp. "That's terrible, man."

He nodded. "It is, it really is."

"I'll drink to that!"

And they did. Again, and again, and again. Enunciation got progressively more butchered, he and Sharon talked and griped and bitched about boys, and he was pretty sure they performed a soulful duet cover of Taylor Swift's Shake It off at one point. He and Sharon roared some victory chant as they slammed three back-to-back shots of tequila, and that was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

Steve was a large guy – but the black-clad bouncer in front of him was a second Goliath. His stony face opened up into a wide a grin when they walked up and he caught sight of the shorter man at Steve's side.

"Hey, Tony!" The affectionate tone sounded strange in his gravelly, accented voice.

"How you doing, Big P? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Just another night, and yourself? What brings you around here?"

Tony smiled and gestured beside him. "Steve here has never been on the inside of Degree Zero. Figured tonight's the night we should change that, yeah?"

The bouncer smiled and nodded at Steve. "Your wish is my command, buddy."

Tony shot him a thousand-watt smile that made Steve's stomach jump a bit and then he was leading Steve by the arm past the bouncer and into the building. Tony had insisted they go to a club tonight for some reason, and had hung up on him after ordering him to dress in black. Steve had been to clubs before and had a nice enough time, but Tony's excitement seemed a little out of proportion.

"Come into this room so we can get our coats!"

"What? Tony –"

"Nah, this way Steve –"

"Tony, we didn't pay to be in here –"

"That's fine, Piotr lets me in for free whenever he's working the doors. In here!"

The two of them crossed the threshold into a cool tiled room illuminated by steady black lights. The bass of loud music thumped gently from somewhere else in the building. The walls held racks of fluffy white fur coats, dozens of them, and jars of what looked like body paint. Steve stared.

"Uh…Tony? What's happening here?"

Tony grabbed a furry coat, smiling as he slipped it around himself. "Degree Zero is owned by this Russian family and they all live to be kinda weird – they keep the club at freezing temperature so that you can dance and drink as much as you want and not, you know, pass out or overheat. They give you coats because duh, hypothermia, but they've also got neon paint and stuff because the whole ballroom has nothing but black lights in it."

Steve shook his head. "Where the fuck have you taken me…"

Tony laughed, ripping a huge coat off its hanger and holding it out to Steve. "Steve, live a little, I promise you it'll be loads of fun."

Steve bit back a sigh and took the offered coat. "You are not putting body paint on me."

Tony's grin turned downright evil. "The hell I'm not. I'm gonna smother you in it, hot stuff."

Steve shook his head again, panicking a little. "No no no, I draw the line at the furry coat."

Tony got up in his space, container of bright green paint materializing in his hand. "Better stretch your line now muscles, it's coming whether you want it or not."

Steve sighed, and Tony whipped his arm out with surprising speed, smearing a quick football-style line of paint on either of his cheeks.

"Cute."

Steve looked at him. "Then I get to do you."

Toy laughed again. "Woah, Steve, you haven't even bought me fine Russian drinks yet! Patience is a virtue, you know."

Steve's smile turned a little bit soft while he stared at Tony under the black lights. It had been a month since their first date, and despite his sultriness Tony had taken things very slow so far, keeping their relationship around PG-13. Steve didn't push; he was an observant man, and he had noticed some things about his boyfriend over the past month.

The first thing he'd noticed about Tony was that sex made him skiddish. He seemed to enjoy the concept, and he could carry heated conversations that would make a prostitute blush, but any time he and Tony had progressed to anything beyond kissing he got anxious. As soon as Steve realized this was a quirk that probably wasn't going away, Steve had backed off and let Tony call the shots.

"Tony you can hardly talk about patience."

Tony scoffed, already busy smearing body paint in squiggly lines down his neck. "I. Am the most patient – eh – man in existence. Hey, use your artistic talent to make my face awesome."

Steve laughed. "Your face is awesome already Tony."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't I know it. Paint me like one of you French girls, baby."

Steve stepped in close, dipped his fingers in the red paint Tony handed him. He thought for a second, decided to go tribal, and made quick work of Tony's face.

"This is…an exercise in basic geometry." Steve's tongue stuck out absently as he drew a circumscribed triangle in the center of Tony's forehead, some dots down the bridge of his nose, and sideways triangles on his cheeks.

Tony looked up at him with adorably wide brown eyes. "You making me ugly?"

Steve shook his head, finishing up. "Actually it looks pretty cool. Take a peek."

They both turned toward the mirror, Steve looking like an All American quarterback and Tony looking like the king of some South African tribe, except for the puffy white coats. Tony's grin smooshed the cheek triangles.

"This looks fantastic! You should quit your day job."

Steve laughed. "And what, put glow paint on ravers? No sir."

"I'm sure that's a marketable skill, somehow. So when we go in there, there'll be lots of flashing lights and it'll be freezing, but once we grab some drinks and dance a little then you'll warm up and feel fine."

Now that he'd had a bit of time to wrap his head around the premise of this club (he was donning fur and body paint, c'mon), Steve could actually see the genius of it. "So they force guests, via their survival instincts, to have fun?"

"Smart, right?"

"Diabolically so."

Tony shrugged. "They keep it pretty exclusive actually. Once people go here they come back pretty often, as you can imagine, but they're kinda picky about their patrons."

Tony grabbed his hand and led him down the hall, the music pumping louder and louder until speech was impossible and the bass vibrated in his chest. As flashing lights outlined sudden thick crowds of bodies, the air got so cold so quickly that Steve gasped, not that Tony or anyone else could hear it over the music. Suddenly his and Tony's furry white rave coats were necessities that Steve couldn't imagine being without. The music's volume and the crowd's energy were at odds with the bone-cracking cold, and Steve had a moment of confusion so powerful he almost laughed.

Tony turned around to face him, his red tribal paint glowing against his skin. He leaned up into Steve's space, grabbing the back of Steve's neck and yelling in his ear. "How do you like it?"

Steve grinned despite himself, leaning down and kissing the side of Tony's head. His hair was soft and wonderfully warm on his lips – Steve wanted to bury his face in it.

" _I'm freezing, Tony!"_

Tony looked up at him, and Steve's eyes adjusted enough to see the wide sparkly look they got when he was ready to have some fun.

" _Drinks?"_

He nodded, and let Tony weave him through the crowd to the bar, tended by three neon-clad people. A pale blonde woman in a furry orange jumpsuit smiled at them and leaned against the counter.

" _Priviet!_ "

Tony smiled widely at her. " _Ztrastvuitie! Vui znaete angliski yazik?"_

" _Da, kanechna_! What can I get you boys?" Her accent was surprisingly minimal.

Tony turned to look at him and yelled, "They serve great vodka here!"

Steve nodded, and turned to the woman. "Two vodkas, please!"

She started preparing two glasses in record time, and set two drinks neatly in front of them. Tony picked it up, holding it out to her as if in toast.

"Thank you!"

She smiled. _"Pajalusta_!"

The woman walked down the counter to help other guests, and Steve took a drink. It was strong, and burned like fire all the way down his throat. He resisted the urge to cough, but his shivering abated a little. Fog coated the glass between his fingers.

He leaned in toward Tony. "You speak Russian?"

Tony shrugged and kept yelling. "A little! I'm pretty shit at it though!" His accent sounded good, if its similarity to Bucky's perfected Russian was any indication.

"When did you learn?"

Tony opened his mouth, but hesitated before forcing out "college!"

Another thing Steve had learned: Tony did not talk about himself. Oh, he talked all the time; he could ramble with the best of them. But when Steve asked him questions about his life or family, he shot off some witty remark and slung some question right back at Steve – usually inappropriate, probing, or obscene – until Steve forgot what he'd asked him in the first place. It'd be hours later when Steve realized that Tony had managed, yet again, to wriggle his way out of Steve's personal questions.

In that regard, Steve didn't really know a whole lot about Tony. He didn't know anything about his parents, or where he grew up. He didn't know what he did for a living – which Steve could not be upset over for fear of being the World's #1 Hypocrite – and he didn't know about a single childhood friend or role model of Tony's. The prior twenty-eight years of Tony's life was a void to Steve.

What he _did_ know about his boyfriend was that the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled wide enough, and that he could rant to Steve about electrical currents and efficient energy resources for hours if he let him. He knew that when the conversation turned personal (at least on Tony's end; he loved hearing Steve Stories as he'd called them), something in Tony's eyes hardened and dimmed like cooling metal. Something terrible had happened to Tony – half of him almost didn't want to know what could scar a man like him so deeply. Nonetheless, Tony was an undeniable optimist. He threw himself into Steve without looking back, trusting that tomorrow would come and that things would probably turn out alright.

So after a month of acquainting himself with the paradox that was Tony, he picked up on the tones and pauses that let him know, in this instance, that Tony decidedly did not learn Russian in college. Steve smiled anyway, and changed the subject.

"How did you even find this place? I've never heard of it before."

The glass in his hand was half empty, and Steve was already feeling the physical implications of that. This vodka was strong. Tony waved a hand, face paint glowing as the music pounded around them.

"I know one of the owners! We became pretty good friends, and then I got Piotr hired as a bouncer here and the rest is history!"

Tony tipped his glass back and finished off the glass, setting it back on the counter and smacking his lips. That was another thing; Tony drank a lot. Steve didn't think he was an alcoholic, but he most certainly drank his feelings. Feelings he would _not_ talk about. Steve pursed his lips. Maybe this vodka buzz was making him a little bitter that Tony was keeping secrets.

Tony stood up all of a sudden, and held his hand out with a smirk. "Wanna dance? It'll warm you up!"

Steve smiled and took it, dropping down from the stool and letting Tony lead him into the crowd. It was a few degrees warmer here amongst the bodies, heat emanating from all the exercise and intoxication. Tony stopped and faced him, eyes and nose giving way to the glowing red conglomeration of circles and triangles. The song playing boomed to a quick beat, and Tony quickly started bouncing in time.

At some point in the song, the remainder of the glass hit Steve's bloodstream and things got more intense after that. Any lingering cold gave way to a soft warmth that pulsed from deep in his chest to the tips of his fingers. Tony's back was to him as the deepened and slowed in tempo. He grabbed Tony's hips and guided them against him, groaning at the mind-blowing feeling. Together they bounced and dipped and swayed to the drums, bright flashing lights catching on their own fogging breath but otherwise leaving them together in the darkness, crowded by strangers on every side.

Steve closed his eyes and let the Russian lyrics and bass vibrate his entire body up against Tony's. Tony gave as good as he got, leaning back against Steve like he was the only thing holding him up. The scorching heat pumping through Steve's body blazed hotter with every beat of the music, every sway of Tony's hips. It was completely enchanting.

Another song passed in wonderland this way before Tony swirled around to face him again, bright smile visible every time the lights flashed. He leaned up and buried his face in Steve's neck, pressing his lips to the chilly skin there and Steve couldn't have suppressed a shiver if the fate of the nation depended on it.

Tony moved up, hot breath tickling his ear. " _Another drink_?"

Steve nodded, knowing words were useless and rarely heard here; the bass would drown out anyone who spoke too long. Together they weaved through the ecstatic dancers and back to the bar, where this time they were approached by a man in a bright blue jumpsuit.

" _Priviet_!" Steve smiled, in too good a mood to mind his language barrier.

"Do you speak English?"

The man beamed. "Yes, of course! What can I get you?"

"Two more vodkas, please!"

The bartender nodded and got his glasses ready, and Steve turned back to Tony.

"This. Is Fantastic." Tony's smile was so genuinely pleased it made Steve's chest tighten.

"You like it?"

"I love it. I'm not hot, I feel like I could stay here all night."

The drinks were set neatly in front of them both as Tony laughed. "That _is_ the goal of a club – you feel less worn out when you're not hot, so they're doing something right!"

Steve nodded, grabbing his glass and holding it up to Tony. "Thank you for bringing me here. This is fun."

Tony smirked, waving him off. "It's nothing, muscles, happy to do it." He grinned at him. Even in the dim technicolor lighting, Tony's eyes were intense and mesmerizing and Steve couldn't look away.

"How do you say 'cheers' in Russian?"

Tony leaned forward with a little laugh. " _Za ztarovie_!"

"Za starov-vie?"

Tony lifted his glass looking delighted. "Close enough big guy. _Za ztarovie_!"

Steve drank a good third of his glass, emerging to see Tony polishing off his glass in one go. Tony was a heavyweight, or at least functioned so well while under the influence that usually, Steve couldn't tell when Tony was drinking and when he wasn't. Steve got sloppy when he drank – on nights where they went out, therefore, Tony was usually left in charge of navigating the cab rides home.

A couple hours passed like this, with Tony and Steve pulling each other greedily from the bar to the dance floor and back, and the night only got more thrilling the longer they stayed there – though that could have been the alcohol talking. Tony was the one to finally pull them toward the exit, claiming that they were both probably much more shriveled from dehydration than they felt.

Once they were in the hall, ears ringing and vision spotting from the sudden lack of overstimulation, Tony pulled out his phone and called them a cab without pausing in his walk. They wiggled out of their coats, Steve stumbling a little as he wrestled his off, and then they were out the door and into the fresh autumn air. Tony was babbling about something Steve couldn't quite grasp, and he realized in that instant that he'd gone further past the tipsy landmark than he's originally anticipated he would.

"Did you have a good time?"

He turned to Tony with a wide smile. "Yes, very good. I really enjoyed that. Thank you, Tony."

Tony shrugged it off quickly. "No big deal, just glad you got a kick out of it."

"I did. But really, you didn't have to do that and you did. So thanks."

Tony got visibly more uncomfortable, and waved it off as no big deal.

That was another thing he'd gathered about Tony: his generosity was shockingly wide-sweeping, often prompting him to send Steve stupidly extravagant gifts and plan large-scale dates for the two of them. Tony was not particularly rich, as far as he'd told Steve – but he gave like someone with too big a wallet and too big a heart. It made even the ridiculous gifts (like the actual to-the-ceiling roomful of beanie babies he'd smuggled into Steve's living room one time) more endearing than they had any right to be. And as far as he'd observed, Tony expected his recipients to respond to the gifts with as much casual acceptance as he'd had in giving them. Tony seemed to feel out of place and off-balance when Steve showed more gratitude than that.

They sat on the curb while they talked and waited for their cab. Tony's head found Steve's shoulder, and Steve rested his own head on top of Tony's without thinking about it. They kept talking about the night, the body paint and its alternative uses, which devolved into a heated discussion of strange fetishes they'd heard about but did not really partake in.

It seemed like seconds in Steve's mind before the cab pulled up in front of them, and Steve and Tony scrambled into the back. Tony's head landed on Steve's shoulder again at some point on their ride back, and in barely a couple minutes his weight shifted against Steve's side in that slow way that hinted at approaching sleep. Steve smiled softly, resisting the urge to reach up and run his fingers through Tony's hair since that might wake him up. He needed the rest.

Tony hadn't been kidding that first night when he'd informed Steve that he only slept when he dropped for a few hours – what he failed to clarify, that night, was that "drop" was not meant as some sort of idiom. Tony _dropped_ – his body finally went on strike and demanded sleep one way or another, and the another often entailed passing out standing up if it came to that. Tony falling asleep now meant he probably hadn't slept in a good three days or so. Steve really didn't want to wake him up.

Sooner than he imagined, they were parked in front of Steve's building. He handed over some cash with a murmured " _thank you_ " before he moved Tony out of the car, doing his best to keep his motions steady and fluid so as not to wake him. He tightened one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him up and walking smoothly to his apartment door. By some miracle he unlocked it without dropping anything (his keys or his boyfriend, and he could only imagine how unpleasant _that_ wake-up call would be) and shouldered his way down the small hallway into his bedroom.

He set Tony on the bed, pulled off his shoes, and tucked him snuggly under the covers. Tony slept on, curling up on his side. Steve smiled down at him for a minute, then turned the light off on his way out of the room. In his outdated, overly-yellow kitchen he grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down before filling it back up and grabbing some Tylenol for them both in case the morning didn't feel as nice as tonight had.

Tony had trusted him enough to fall asleep with him.

Usually, Tony had nightmares. Ones so bad they woke him up, made him thrash around and cry out in his sleep. It was easy to see that the nightmares were why Tony chose to stay away for days at a time, and only slept when his body gave him no choice. They had fallen asleep in Steve's bed a couple times before, and each time Tony's own subconscious woke him up before too long. Most of Steve was desperate to know what Tony dreamed about, to help and to support because Tony needed help and support, goddammit. But a part of Steve was almost scared to know. They'd only known each other for a month – part of Steve wanted to run from those dreams, pretend like they didn't happen the same way Tony pretended every time he woke up from one.

Steve had bitten the bullet and asked, one time – not _what was your nightmare about_ , god no, Steve wasn't stupid. But he'd asked maybe a bolder question: _what is it that you don't want to talk about?_ Tony had frozen, hands bunched around his black café shirt that had been thrown to the floor during his night at Steve's, and his eyes had turned into stones.

 _I mean, you don't sleep, you drink like a fish, you don't like to be handed things – you've got so many strange quirks, Tony, and I just wish I knew more about them. I don't want to step on some verbal landmine_.

Tony had frowned, and after a bit of arguing back and forth, Tony had said, _Steve, just let it go. I have my secrets and you have yours, and that's how everyone is. I'm not much of a sharer_.

And Steve respected that, he did, but as reentered his bedroom and saw the peaceful lump that was his boyfriend – knowing that peace would be shattered in a few hours when Tony woke up screaming – he couldn't help but wish he knew more anyway.

He wrapped his arms around Tony's waist, buried his face in Tony's soft hair, and settled in for a couple hours of peace.

* * *

He woke up on Bucky's couch with a nauseating dry mouth and hot insides. He considered going back to sleep, but he needed a glass of water and a toilet (to piss in or puke in, maybe both), so rolled himself up into a sitting position.

 _"Ugh."_

The headache swept the rug out from under him. Figuratively, of course.

"Wow, I didn't think you'd wake up yet!"

He groaned again, head in his hands. " _Stop yelling_."

"When have I ever gone easy on you, Steve?"

He shook his head. "You're an asshole."

"Guilty as charged." Steve felt the couch sink as Bucky sat down next to him. "Who was that woman you ignored me for all night?"

He took a deep breath and thought about it for a second. Last night's memory trickled into his brain one-by-one like a high school PowerPoint. "Uh – Sharon."

"Wait, like – " he laughed and Steve's head pulsed, " – like the lady who stood you up?"

"Yeah. Weird huh?"

"What'd you two do?"

Steve shrugged. "Drank, talked about how breakups suck mainly. It was pretty nice up until I can't…remember anything."

Bucky laughed again. "Yeah, you threw your fuckin' tits up, I dragged you outta there and put you to bed. I didn't know what you'd been up to with that Sharon girl, though, so I didn't give her your number or anything before takin' you away. Sorry about that."

He shook his head and instantly regretted it. "That's alright Bucky, I'm sure I made an ass of myself in front of her anyway." He smiled ruefully. "I pretty much ranted to her about Tony all night, so."

"That was probably good for you. Gotta get it out of your system, you know? Talk about it until you feel better.

"Yeah." He didn't think he'd ever feel better. It was _Tony._

Bucky paused, and his voice had a bit of hesitancy in it. "…Isn't it weird, though, that the night Sharon doesn't show, you meet Tony, and by the time he's gone you finally see her again? It's like he was an era all to himself."

Like time had stopped when Tony was a part of his life, Steve thought. Like it had started back up the second he walked away. Steve looked down and bit his tongue.

"Hey, Steve, I didn't say that to – you know I didn't mean – anything by that."

Steve swallowed and looked up at him. Bucky had that wide brown-eyed look he always got when he put his foot in his mouth.

"No Buck, I think you're right. It's just hard. It's like he was a dream I woke – woke up from."

Bucky nodded. "I know. Just give it time."

After a pause, Steve took a deep breath. "I didn't drunk-dial anyone last night right?"

Bucky smiled. "Pretty sure you tried to order Italian food at one point? But that Sharon girl hung up your phone for you."

Steve grabbed his cell up from the coffee table just to make sure. He had just that one outgoing call, and – he straightened.

"Huh."

Buck blinked. "What."

"Sharon, she texted me. Musta nabbed by number at some point."

 _Hey Steve, I had a great time drunk-moping about our exes last night. Let me know if you'd like to do it again sometime. Sharon._

Bucky elbowed his side. "Man, you're _so_ in."

"Shut up, Buck."


	4. Chapter 4

"The hacker has corrupted our files on weaponry and that of all our contacts. We're still working on _how_ this individual managed to bypass our firewalls, but as of now one person has seen the mechanical schematics for every caliber of firearm and explosive we have ever made, or plan to make in the distant future. If the hacker chooses to distribute this information to enemies of the UN, we could have a world crisis on our hands."

Steve flipped through the files in his hands as Natasha spoke. They were all back in the conference room, this time with Natasha giving them the important updates on that hacker from forever ago who, apparently, had been systematically re-hacking SHIELD's secure filed about every week. Steve shook his head.

"Something is off about this."

Coulson gave Steve what might have been his driest expression to date. "You don't say."

"It's been two months since the initial hacking – we should've had our world crisis already, or at least some kind of physical threat. It doesn't make sense to sit stewing on enemy information like this."

From across the table, Clint pointed at him. "My thoughts exactly. For an official high-profile enemy of SHIELD, this guy is a piss-poor strategist. For all he knows we could be planting fake information; we're no longer caught off-guard and unaware. He knows we're onto him."

Hill frowned. "We know nothing about this individual – no name, gender, location, motivation. We only know they're compromising SHIELD servers and seem to be fixated on our weapons program."

Steve scowled frown at the pages of mostly incomprehensible strings of code. "I'm getting the impression that if we were on this hacker's shit list, we'd probably already be dead. This person…is trying to find something, maybe. In our files."

Up front next to Fury, Natasha's brows furrowed. "Like what?"

Steve leaned forward. "Well, they could be looking for a particular weapon, but they would have found it the first time. They keep checking in, looking at ours and our allies'…I think our target knows something about a contact of ours, this contact's plan for some weapon. Keeps waiting to see if it's showed up in our inventory yet."

Fury's patented severe look overcame his face as he crossed his arms. "Are you suggesting that not only is this hacker not a threat to us, but that potentially one of our allies _is_?"

Steve shrugged. "Aside from pulling our curtains back, this target has not acted aggressively. The timing and frequency of the hacks is reminiscent of monitoring a potential threat – something SHIELD does every minute."

Clint leaned back in his chair. "They're on the defensive."

Steve nodded. "It makes more sense than an upcoming World War 3."

Natasha pursed her lips. "Running hypotheticals, especially optimistic ones, can only achieve so much. No one with enough technological prowess to _infiltrate a government organization_ does so because they want to make friends."

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of his own phone's ringtone. His eyes widened as everyone turned to look at him, and not in the good way.

"Um – one moment please." He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, stomach dropping when he saw Tony's contact icon.

 _Steve there's an emergency! Leave work if you can and come to this address._

Attached below was a small file clearly depicting a photo screenshotted from Google Maps. Steve's breath caught up in his throat, and he looked up to see everyone staring at him with a bit of urgency now.

"What is it, Steve?" Clint asked.

Steve stood. "I'm sorry, there's a family emergency. I have to go right now."

For the smallest moment it looked like Fury might tell him to sit his ass back down – and then he nodded and waved him toward the door. "Go, Rogers. I expect you here tomorrow, bright and early, on time as always."

"Yes, sir." He gathered up all his files and rushed out of the room.

He all but ran from the building and climbed into his car, glancing once more at the map Tony had sent him – it was off the island, but with his clever use of highways and traffic's unusual show of mercy today, he was parked in front of a slightly run-down apartment building within a half hour. He opened the car door, considered for a moment, then pulled the pistol from his glove box and tucked it into his jeans. He had no clue what he might be walking into here, and he wasn't about to risk Tony's safety by entering unarmed.

He climbed the steps to the front door, followed Tony's directions to the correct suite, and knocked on the door.

Tony answered, a beautiful grin splitting his face. "Steve, you came! And how the hell did you get here so fast, you use your jetpack?"

Steve looked past Tony's shoulder, relieved to see that Tony seemed okay but still pretty panicked. "I left work the moment I got your text, what's wrong?"

Tony's grin widened impossibly. "Ah, your question should be what's _right!_ My best friend Bruce came back from India this morning and I want you to meet him!"

The world stopped short from its manic, adrenalin-injected spin. Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Tony. You said this was an emergency."

Tony had the sense to look the tiniest bit shameful. "Well, Bruce did sort of _emerge._ Bruce _is_ the emergency."

Steve stared at him, shaking his head while he very subtly worked on getting his breath back. He had been so worried – but it was moments like this that Steve remembered just how different his life was from everyone else's. When someone told him _emergency,_ his mind jumped to dismembered bodies or double murders, not _my friend's back in town._ A strangled laugh fell out Steve's mouth.

Tony cocked his head, brows furrowed. "You okay, Steve?"

He sighed, then managed a grin. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just glad you're okay Tony."

Tony's intelligent eyes softened a little, and the corners of his mouth quirked up gently. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Steve's smile was a little more genuine this time. "Next time, just tell me what the event is and I'll see what I can do about work."

Tony beamed. "Deal! Well you're here anyway, wanna come in and meet Bruce?"

"Sure." He stepped in after Tony, and the shorter man led him down the hall, which soon opened up into a shabby looking kitchen. The whole place smelled of fresh curry.

"Looks like he went back to his bedroom, stay here and I'll go get him." Tony disappeared into another small hall. The whole place looked like it hadn't been lived in in months. Soon Steve heard two male voices talking over each other, and then Tony was leading a man in front of him.

Bruce was short, about Tony's height, with curly black hair and eyes so dark they were almost black. His hunched posture made him look like he was bracing for some blow, but there was something curious in his expression that made Steve pretty sure that he and Tony had first bonded intellectually. Tony bounced up beside Bruce and held his hands out in a beholding kind of gesture.

"Steve, this is my best friend Bruce. Bruce, this is Steve, light of my life and fire of my loins."

Bruce looked equal parts exasperated and amused as he held his hand out. "Nice to finally meet you, Steve." Bruce's voice was deep and slow, almost luxurious. With a single sentence, Steve could tell it took a lot to break this guy's calm.

"Pleasure's all mine. I didn't know Tony really…" He made a vague hand gesture, and Bruce laughed.

"Had friends? Don't worry, he gets that all the time." Tony made an affronted sound and stepped back from the two of them.

"Even the people who _like_ me don't like me!"

"Fact." Steve smiled so Tony knew it was a joke, but he received the middle finger anyway.

"Why do I even hang out with you guys…"

"Better question," Bruce said as he turned to Tony. "Why did I not learn about Steve until _yesterday?_ "

Tony leveled an unimpressed look at him. "Why did you leave me and run off to India for like ten years?"

Bruce smiled and rolled his eyes. "I see your point. Still, I had no clue Steve existed until you told me about him over email."

Steve laughed. "You got a head start then – I didn't know _you_ existed until about five minutes ago, and he doesn't even have some foreign country as an excuse there."

Bruce met his eyes and shook his head forlornly. "This is what we get for gallivanting around with a sarcastic, scientific asshole whose secrets happen to have secrets."

"Okay, that is quite enough Tony bashing! We haven't even gotten to the roast yet guys, you're doing this all out of order." Tony was looking only a little bit uncomfortable, and not with the jabs. Steve felt a sudden warmth for him in that moment, tinged with a little sadness.

"I'm glad you brought me over to meet Bruce, Tony." He reached a hand out and smiled, unsure of what Bruce was comfortable seeing and not wanting to put him off in his own house.

It seemed Tony had other plans. His lips flicked up into a mischievous grin before he lunged forward, pulling Steve down into a kiss. His whole body relaxed into Tony's and Bruce stayed silent – Steve didn't know yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But when they pulled away, Bruce had the same serene expression with a tiny smile that spoke of seeing a friend happy. Tony turned to look at him, ignoring the almost fatherly look in his friend's eyes.

"Whatcha staring at Brucie? You can't join, you're not invited."

Bruce laughed, and looked at Steve without answering. "Would you like to stay for some early dinner, Steve? I've got some curry cooking right now if you'd like."

Steve smiled at him. "That would be lovely. Thank you, Bruce."

Tony sighed dramatically. "D'you have Benedryl, Bruce? Your collective politeness is giving me hives."

* * *

The next time it happened, they didn't get drunk together.

Sharon called Steve up and asked when he was free to grab a bite to eat. Steve could have said he was busy this week and the next, kept postponing until she got the message and fucked off, but he'd actually enjoyed their time together despite being heartbroken and depressed. He told her he was free for lunch on Tuesday. And that he hated Italian food.

So they met at a small bistro on their lunch breaks and ate sandwiches while they got to know each other without the influence of alcohol. Turned out Sharon had a great sense of humor, and they spent an hour laughing almost non-stop. Steve could easily see what had pulled him to her all that time ago. Steve was also surprised to learn that she wasn't naturally a blonde.

"You're not?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

"What's your natural color?"

"Brown. Dyed it like this in my early twenties back when blonde was the only way to be sexy." She laughed a little. "Even after I got over the novelty of it, I liked it more than my brown hair. It feels more me."

Steve smiled. "I agree. Keep it blonde."

When they were done eating and talking, Steve paid for them both because he was a little unsure if this was a date or just a lunch between friends. She cleared that up though, when she leaned up and kissed him before climbing into her cab.

* * *

After curry, Tony was visibly itching for a cigarette – a habit Steve could not, for the life of him, convince Tony to give up – and grumbled loudly when he realized he was out. He left to the nearest corner store with a wave over his shoulder and a jingle of his keys, leaving Bruce to calmly invite Steve to the balcony. He made Steve and himself cups of potent-smelling tea and led him to the sliding glass door.

Steve hadn't noticed until he was outside, but Bruce's place had fairly depressing lighting. It made the smoggy NYC twilight look like a Disneyland postcard. He sat himself down on one of the green lawn chairs overlooking the city, and saw Bruce doing the same.

"I hope this doesn't come out wrong…but does the coloring of your apartment ever get you down?"

Despite the fact that his question _did_ come out _completely_ wrong, Bruce chuckled serenely. "I suppose so, but I don't really have a depressive personality. I have a temper, I get stressed out very easily, so if anything the drabness calms me down."

Steve took a sip of the hot tea in his hand and tried not to make a face at the bitterness. " _You_ have a temper? I can't really imagine that."

Bruce smiled. "Yeah, I keep a pretty tight lid on it. You'd think having a best friend like Tony Edwards would've shoved me off the deep end long ago, but…something about our friendship just works."

Steve blinked. "His last name is Edwards?"

Bruce quirked an eyebrow, and his voice was slow and dry. "You've been with him for two months and you never asked for his last name?"

He looked off into the streets. "I guess it never came up. Something as basic as a last name, and it never came up." He shook his head. "I don't know if this is oversharing, I mean I just met you, but – sometimes I feel like I don't know Tony at all. Like he hides everything about himself from me. It's like lo– dating a ghost."

Bruce's lips curled gently at Steve's slip up, but then he sighed. "I wish that I could give you better news, Steve, but that's just how Tony is. With everyone. We've been friends for years and he's opened up to me a handful of times – usually in crises, he's open when it's necessary. But if our minds are an ocean, Tony floats on the surface. He stays in the present. He has more under there, but I don't think he wants to go there unless he absolutely has to."

"What – is considered necessary? It might be selfish, but…I don't know how a full, mutual relationship is possible without even a minimum level of honesty."

Bruce looked torn for a moment, then set his drink down on the coffee table and turned toward Steve in his chair, looking him dead in the eye. "When I was a kid, my father beat me and my mother. He ended up beating her to death one day. I've got a lot of anger because of it."

Steve felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "I'm so sorry."

Bruce shook his head gently. "Thank you, but I'm not telling you this for sympathy. When I told Tony, he looked startled, but calmer than you do now. He seemed to empathize. He gave me advice with how to deal with it, how to let go of what anger I could and embrace what I couldn't. It spoke of a lot of experience."

Steve went cold. "You – you think he was abused?"

Bruce gave a tiny shrug. "It's not my place to say, or to speculate. But a situation where Tony would find it _necessary_ to tell you or me, would probably involve those experiences he hides from so well, coming back to bite him in the ass. My version, for example, would be if my father escaped from prison and came after me."

Steve scrubbed a slow hand down his face, letting out a puff of air. "So you're telling me I might never find out."

Bruce sighed. "If I'm being honest, you never knowing means Tony has no reason for you to know, which means his bad memories are staying in the past. As a concerned best friend, I couldn't ask for anything better. But yes. You might never find out."

Steve leaned back in his chair. He listened to the taxis blaring their horns as the sun ducked under the skyline. Bruce's tea filled his nose, and things felt comforting and bleak at the same time. "What if I can't do this? What if his – surface isn't enough?"

He thought of all that _never knowing_ entailed – because this wasn't just some flighty curiosity on Steve's part. Tony's memories affected everything about their relationship, everything from talking to sex. Steve wasn't particularly needy in that department; they'd done everything he could imagine short of sex, and that was fine by him. Tony was absolutely sinful in everything he did under the sheets, and he left Steve seeing stars every time. But the idea of Tony having some deep-seated, ever-present hangup about sex _terrified_ Steve – it made him scared to even kiss him, for fear of hurting Tony somehow.

To have something as wonderful as sex be flipped on its head, made into something painful and horrifying, gave Steve pause to say the least.

Bruce took a second to answer. "You mean the world to him. And he to you, I can tell. You have to ask yourself if you need to know Tony inside and out, or if you have all you need to love him anyway."

Steve frowned as he thought about that. Never before had he looked at his and Tony's relationship and thought _, this might be a dead end._ He was always too caught up in the way Tony smiled at him, that knowing look in his eyes, the way they moved around and past and into each other with just a glance. Time with Tony always glowed, with a forever sort of feeling that left no room for expiration dates.

"And I should also add, that if you break Tony's heart by stringing him along when you're not prepared for all he entails, I will find you. And you'll learn just how angry I can get."

Steve looked up to find Bruce burning a hole in his face, all traces of that serene calm replaced with a fire that had Steve, top agent of SHIELD and assassin extraordinaire, gulping. His black eyes promised disembowelment.

"I promise, I'll figure this out before it's too late."

Bruce shifted, and suddenly the Zen King persona was back in place – just as the glass door behind them slid open, and Tony popped his head out, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"What're ya doin' out here, ladies?"

Bruce turned and gave Tony a gentle smile. "Just giving Steve the shovel talk."

Tony rolled his eyes, sliding the door shut and pulling up a chair. He plopped himself down across from them both, back to the skyline so his smirking face was cast in shadow, and kicked his feet up until they were rested on Steve's lap. "Oh Brucie, when're you gonna learn that you're just not intimidating."

"Not to _you,_ for some reason I can't fathom."

Tony smiled as he took a drag. "The _reason_ is that you're a teddy bear."

Bruce was decidedly _not_ a teddy bear, Steve knew. But as Tony pulled long and slow from his cigarette, Bruce shot him a fond smile that told Steve that he'd probably indulge this man to the ends of the earth and never lose patience. If Steve were the jealous type, his hackles might have raised.

But he was not the jealous type. So they all talked and laughed like two of them hadn't been discussing the possibility of ending a beautiful relationship. The sun went down, the city lights blinked on one by one, and Tony's laughter peeled into the night air like bells. Steve wanted to stay there forever, with Tony's feet on his lap and Bruce's tea tasting sweeter with every sip.


	5. Chapter 5

Fury had called him in for a mission, which was altogether inconvenient because he and Sharon had planned a date night and he'd had to cancel on her. He didn't feel as bad as he always had with Tony when he told her he was leaving for an out-of-town conference for physical trainers (the feeble but pretty believable fake-job he'd supplied for Tony, and then later for Sharon as well). He'd be taking another trainer he worked with named Barton, and they'd be off in Missouri for three days.

So here he was, with Clint on a Switzerland rooftop hunting down Anton Veznikov and Marcel Herbert, two black market arms dealers about to strike a deal, both with ties to separate crime syndicates. Not exactly what he'd told Sharon he'd be doing, but at least he had the Barton part right.

Gravel and grime bit into his elbows as he waited with Clint at his side, both their heads just barely peaking over the building's edge to keep an eye on the rendezvous point. They were closing in on one hour of waiting here – a common SHIELD precaution in case targets arrived early.

"So I was talking to Nat," Clint started, his quiet voice jarring in the relative silence. "She said you've been kinda down – that guy you've been seeing, Tony, is he alright?"

Steve didn't take his eyes from the street down below, but he did blink. What a loaded question – one Steve avoided thinking about every single day. Steve had no idea if Tony was alright. Tony could be kicking back somewhere in the Bahamas right now. Or he could have just been stabbed to death by a hoard of ruthless lackies somewhere in Canada. He had no clue, and no way of finding out, and that terrified him.

Steve sighed. "I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?"

We're not – together anymore. Now I'm with this girl – Sharon. She's nice."

"Shit, put that enthusiasm away."

Steve frowned. "Sharon's wonderful, I didn't mean – but yes, Tony and I are over. It's still kind of a –"

"– tough subject?"

He let out a breath. "Pretty much."

"Sorry about that."

"S'fine."

There was silence as they both gazed out at the street, heads rested in their folded arms, and waited for something to happen. Clint sighed.

"Junior agents should be on this shit. How'd we go from divine aliens to low-grade mafia detail?"

Steve's brows furrowed. "Divine aliens?"

Thou shalt not ask about each other's missions, Steve thought to himself, but Clint didn't seem to care too much at the moment. "Yeah, you know we got some serious shit going down in New Mexico?"

Steve had heard the gist: a small town had gotten itself leveled by some off-the-wall supernatural occurrence? SHIELD handled lots of situations that ranked at least an 8.5 on his Weird Shit-O-Meter, so Steve hadn't really looked into it, having been preoccupied and all.

"Yeah, what happened?"

Steve could hear the smirk in Clint's voice. "A god, from another planet, showed up in some tiny town, made it obvious he wasn't from around here, then blew it up. I came in as soon as I could, got to meet the guy's brother who showed up later – he noticed me perched, dunno how, and offered me some kind of supernatural deal. I'm pretty sure he's where legends about Faustian contracts come from."

Steve's eyes widened, and he took a second to let that soak in. "Think they've visited Earth before?"

Clint shrugged. "They seemed familiar enough with this place to bet safely on yes."

Steve sighed, his gut churning from a combination of overwhelming, apocalyptic dread and that exasperation you get when you spill coffee on your pants. "We're dealing with angry gods now?"

"Well, not dealing – you'll be glad to know I turned down his offer."

Steve chuckled. "What was his offer?"

There was a tiny, uncomfortable pause where Steve was sure he'd just crossed some invisible line – a sensation that reminded him so much of Tony that he ached. Then Clint just shrugged easily.

"He offered to bring my brother back to life."

He frowned, then turned to look at him.

"Well I'm glad you didn't take him up on that."

Clint snickered, and their targets arrived soon after. Two successive, silenced shots thunked out, blood and grey matter sprayed the ground, and two bodies dropped to the cobblestone. Steve and Clint bounded away from the building in opposite directions, taking all traces of their presence with them. They made a good team, him and Clint.

* * *

About a week after Steve's conversation with Bruce it became, at least in part, a nonissue.

Not that Tony suddenly stopped closing himself off when Steve mentioned parents or California, but Steve made him dinner one night – steak and potatoes – and while Tony was very vocal about his appreciation as he shoveled food into his mouth at a nearly nauseating pace, he seemed distracted. Steve, consuming his own at a more reasonable speed, was about to ask him what was on his mind when Tony's fork clanked down into his plate, and his boyfriend leaned forward in his chair to look Steve dead in the eyes.

"This is fantastic food. I think we should take this to the bedroom."

Steve blinked, and Tony kept talking.

"I mean, not the food, I meant – we should take our persons, to the bedroom. Maybe Tupperware the food, save it for later?"

Steve's mouth, luckily food-free, fell open. "U-uh, sure. Yeah. We'll – are you sure?"

Tony nodded, eyes dark and piercing. "Oh yes."

Steve felt his own pulse pick up speed, and he felt warm all over. He swallowed. "Positive?"

Tony rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Yes, baby."

Steve stood and walked around the table to Tony, kneeling so they were at eye level. Tony's eyes were clouded with heat and his breath was just uneven enough to tell Steve all he needed to know. He leaned forward, pressing his lips into Tony's.

It was instant, a furnace tipping over and flooding molten heat into Steve's body. He reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of Tony's neck to pull him closer, and Tony growled and folded against Steve like he was made to be there. The kiss deepened into something wicked and delicious, and Steve could smell and taste nothing but Tony now.

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony's middle and pulled them up and flush against each other, and Tony arched and god, there was nothing better than this. He pulled back just long enough to pull Tony down the hall and into the bedroom, but it was far too long to be apart. He captured Tony' lips back with his own, lowering his lover down onto the bed underneath him. He groaned at the sensation of Tony's body, pressed flush and hot against his own.

He slipped a leg in between Tony's and ground down, the heat jumping up ten notches when Tony gasped and moaned into his mouth. Tony was hard and pulsing under him, body breathless and pliant. He couldn't wait to unravel him, bit by bit.

Steve's hands moved almost of their own accord, reaching under Tony's shirt and dragging his fingers up Tony's stomach. Tony shivered underneath him, his mouth slipping open. Steve kept his lips on Tony's, tongue dipping into his mouth, their hips slotting together with aching heat.

Tony's hands moved then, blazing scorched trails up Steve's sides as he tried his damnedest to rip Steve's shirt off. Steve pulled it over his head, and Tony dove upward to plant his lips on Steve's neck. He let out a choked breath, back arched, and his eyes slid closed as he ran fingers through Tony's thick hair. Hands and lips and tongue explored Steve's neck and chest and stomach, tiny fiery bursts of pleasure that went straight to Steve's dick.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed Tony by the shoulders and pressed him back into the covers. He licked a stripe up Tony's throat, coaxing a groan out of him before attacking his mouth again. For the smallest second, his peeked up from underneath the clouds of heat, and he pulled back long enough to meet his eyes.

"Is this okay?"

Tony looked completely fucked –eyes black with lust, lips red and swollen, breath leaving him in hot pants – but he looked surprised at the question. Then his beautiful features split into a wide grin, and he reached up to steal another kiss.

"A-okay, soldier. Do your worst."

Steve frowned and shook his head, lowering himself down until his face was an inch from Tony's. He brushed a thumb down his cheek and kept his voice firm.

"No, I'm gonna do my best. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

He reached down between them, his hand dipping down past Tony's waistline and around his dick, and he smiled when Tony bucked into his hand.

"Ah – Steve Rogers, you are – fuck, a work of God."

His voice shook, and Steve worked his hand a little faster, thumb pressing up against the tip. Tony moaned and arched up into Steve's body, his breath quaking.

"Steve…"

He leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the sounds Tony made as he moved his hand faster, pressed a little harder. Tony growled as he gathered his own shirt up in two fistfuls and yanked it over his own head. Their clothes piled up on the floor one by one until Steve was staring down at Tony, naked and flushed and breathless underneath him.

The first time Tony had taken his shirt off for him, it had been hard to swallow down the shock; scars littered Tony's back and shoulders and chest, all thick and jagged and blunt and thin and discolored. Tony's body told a story Steve would never know – posed a whole book of questions he'd never find answers to. And after Steve's conversation with Bruce, those scars only grew more foreboding as the possibilities narrowed down. And Steve would never know for sure.

But Steve was coming to terms with that; Tony had survived, and he was here with him now. Steve would never let anything else happen to him. That was all that mattered.

Steve made his way down Tony's body, kissing every scar he could get his hands on. Tony squirmed and made small breathless noises until he had Tony's hips in his hands. He placed a tender kiss on the middle of his shaft, making it pulse. Then he met Tony's eyes darkly before he wrapped his mouth around him.

Tony cried out, hands coming up to twist in Steve's hair while he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. He closed his eyes, memorizing this feeling and listening to Tony's broken moans. After a minute or two he pulled off, looking up at Tony.

"Are you ready for lube?"

For the smallest moment, Tony looked anxious. Then more lust replaced that look, and he nodded.

"Okay." He reached under the bed, fingers closing around a small bottle and a square package. He smiled up at Tony, pulling up the lube and condom before swallowing him whole again. Tony gasped as he threw his head back. He rose and fell and rose again, sucking him off while he poured oil out onto his hands. He kept his touches soft and light, kept Tony distracted while he stretched him slowly. Tony wriggled a little in discomfort, but Steve hollowed his cheeks and took him in all the way, and Tony sighed and became pliant under him again. Once he was able to get two fingers, he curled them.

Like clockwork, Tony screamed and arched off the bed, fingers tightening in Steve's hair under the double onslaught. He pulled him in deeper while he stretched him wider, his cries sending waves of heat through Steve's body. Finally he pulled back, kissing his way up Tony's chest again.

"Are you ready?"

Tony looked him dead in the eye, and behind layers of black lust he saw determination there.

"Yes."

Steve nodded. "Okay."

He lined himself up and slid in, inch by inch, ignoring the tight heat and watching Tony's expression closely. Once he was in to the hilt he stayed there, resolutely not shaking from the effort it took to keep still.

After a few deep breaths, Tony spoke in a low whisper. "Move."

He obeyed, strokes slow and shallow at first, and Steve groaned. It felt amazing, hot and tight and better than he'd ever imagined it could. He thrusted deeper and faster, and he saw it on Tony's face the moment he hit it. Tony screamed, eyes wide and body trembling, and his hands fisted into the sheets at his sides.

"Steve – oh god, fuck, Steve –"

He slammed frantically inside him, pushing faster and harder and deeper until Tony arched and gasped and cried underneath him, clinging and shaking and soclosecoclosecoclose –

"God, Tony!"

He held on by a thread, sweet wet heat licking every inch of him while he listened to Tony's strangled moans and torn whimpers as he begged forharder Steve please oh god yes more faster Steve more please more –

His lips closed in on Tony's neck while pushed desperately into him, slamming harder and harder and just seconds from the edge. He pressed his lips to Tony's ear, and his voice came out in a broken whisper.

"I want you to come for me, baby."

One last strangled keen, and then Tony's eyes rolled back and his whole body jerked, pressing back against Steve inside him. Steve thrusted frantically into him one, two more times before he followed, arching into Tony and crying his name.

The white spots faded from Steve's vision after a couple minutes, leaving him and Tony panting and nuzzled in each other's arms. Their bodies were sticky with sweat and cum, but Steve couldn't remember ever having been happier than in this moment. He shifted and saw that Tony was grinning at him lazily, looking on the verge of sleep. Relief him out of nowhere, and he realized he'd been terrified of how Tony might react once it was all over. Steve let out a grin that he couldn't have hoped to tamper down, and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek.

"Come on now, we can't hit the hay yet. We gotta get cleaned up."

Tony closed his eyes, smile still in place. His voice was hoarse. "Mmm. Shower?"

Steve kissed his forehead. "Yes, shower."

Tony's eyes slipped open and pinned Steve in place. He loved those eyes. He would stare into them forever if he could. Tony reached up and ran a hand through Steve's hair.

"I think I found your calling, Steven."

He laughed. "What, sex?"

"A good ninety percent of the globe would pay top dollar for your services. Shit, that was amazing."

Steve smiled and kissed him. He wanted to have this moment on video, remember every word. "I'm delighted to hear it. I won't be selling myself for cash, but I'm sure you and I can work something out for future appointments."

Tony beamed and pulled him closer,his voice gaining some energy back at that offer. "I'll take you up on that. Starting with shower sex."

Steve chuckled and smiled at him. All the fear, the doubt, the boundaries had melted and Steve felt a hundred pounds lighter. That had been the best sex he'd ever had. He wanted to put that breathtaking, thousand-watt smile on Tony's face every single day.

"Alright, let's just – take a breather, you know, recharge the batteries." He stretched in an exaggerated show of luxury.

"Hah! No can do boyo, up and at 'em! Let's get clean."

* * *

After he called Sharon to let her know he'd be back in town from his Missouri bullshit conference, he stepped into SHIELD HQ to report. Clint had already come in a couple hours ago, but Steve had opted to shower and wash the sweat-and-gunpowder smell out of his pores as best he could. He and Sharon had agreed to catch a movie once he got off his fake-bullshit-Missouri plane.

Fury was getting weird, and Steve wasn't sure if it was because of the still-missing hacker or, possibly, the apocalyptic god situation he had on his hands. Steve was shocked that every agent in the organization hadn't been formerly briefed on what Clint told him up on that rooftop; if a relatively innocuous hacker called for all hands on deck, then the New Mexico incident called for hands, feet, and any other extremity available in Steve's book.

He knocked the reinforced steel door three times, waiting for permission to enter. He stood at attention until Fury ordered him to take a seat. The director wasted no time and leaned forward in his swivel chair.

"So why is it that you have not yet reported on this hacker business?"

Steve kept calm, and met Fury's eyes. "He's stayed elusive. Romanoff and I are doing our best to track down his whereabouts, but as of now we can't do much other than wait."

Fury looked unimpressed. "We have a name. How can you not track him down when we know who he is?"

"We've combed through every database we have…and Tony Stark doesn't exist. We don't know when, but at some point in his life he made himself a ghost. If he's operating under any identity at all, it's not under Tony Stark."

As much as it hurt, he was thankful in moments like these, with Fury's heavy glare pressing on him, that Tony Edwards never told Steve where he'd planned to run to before he stormed out of his apartment kitchen. As much as it terrified Steve not knowing where Tony was or what was happening with him, it made it easier to lie to Fury's face and not put him in further danger.

"We have an original name, there is no way in pluperfect hell that two of my top agents have not yet managed to retrieve a motherfucking pseudonym to track down! What the fuck have you and Romanov been doing all this time, playing footsie?"

Steve bit his tongue, and took a deep breath. "We have been working with the information we have. Which, sir, is next to nothing. We have a name that has been cleaned out from every government and corporate file in America, we have the patterns we observed when he was hacking our servers, and that's it. We cannot find him until we get a lead, and we won't get a lead until he hacks something else."

"Then set a trap, make him hack something! We know his patterns and what he's interested in, set a motherfucking trap and apprehend this bastard! This is the longest duration of time SHIELD has ever taken to neutralize a threat!"

Something in Steve snapped. "We never confirmed that he was a threat, sir."

Fury glared. "Excuse me?"

Steve took a silent, deep breath. "Tony Stark was never confirmed as a threat to SHIELD, only implied to be one. If SHIELD were to choose to neutralize him upon locating him, we could lose a valuable potential addition to our forces."

Fury stood, actually managing to make Steve's breath hitch for a second. Fury walked slowly around his desk until he was looming over Steve, his expression livid.

"Agent, you are here to execute SHIELD orders. Tony Stark has infiltrated SHIELD firewalls and compromised its secrets. You have killed men,unhesitatingly, for less."

Steve held his head high, refusing to cower but also not saying anything. Fury's eyes stabbed through him.

"You should do well to remember what happens to SHIELD enemies. It's best not to give any of us here a reason to doubt you, Captain."

Steve looked him in the face then, anger lighting him up. "Are you threatening me, Director?"

Fury held his gaze. "Not necessarily. I'm reminding you that you have a job, and a sworn duty do that job."

When he finally met up with Sharon an hour later for movie night, he smiled as best he could and wrote off her concern at his nauseated expression, claiming he was just tired. He didn't remember what the movie was about – his mind was churning at a million miles an hour, corrosive worry for Tony and for himself making it impossible to concentrate. He remembered Bucky's disapproving frown every time Steve talked about rising to the top at SHIELD, remembered him warning Steve to be careful, that this shit was dangerous. He'd always assumed Buck was talking about the missions.

Fury would try to keep him there, and would order him to kill Tony if SHIELD ever managed to track him down. And if Steve disobeyed, he'd become just another target that his friends would be forced to neutralize. Two more heads turned inside out, grey matter splashed on concrete. He and Tony wouldn't even see it coming.

But fuck if Steve would ever let that happen. He'd make sure SHIELD never found Tony Stark, even if that meant Steve would never lay eyes on him again.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite having worked with Natasha Romanov for a few years now, Steve sometimes still had trouble pinning her down. Every expression Natasha showed on her face, she deliberately _put_ there – she was an emotional chameleon. Maybe it had something to do with being trained as a spy since before she hit puberty – where most kids got awkward first kisses and humiliating social experiences to define themselves, Natasha had gotten stuck with (or been blessed with?) a polished pistol aim and undercover assignments in foreign countries. Something about lying about her identity that young had made her a very slippery adult. Her real personality was hard to find on a good day.

And here she was, in all her catsuited glory when he showed up at work the morning after the best goddamned sex of his life, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked. He stopped short at her expression, suddenly worried he'd forgotten pants or something.

"What?"

Her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile. Her voice, around Steve at least, was usually a luxurious cross between bored and taunting. "Let me guess, you got some from the guy at the club."

Steve blushed, but his eyebrows furrowed all the same. "What club?"

She blinked slowly at him. " _Nol Gradusof_."

"Huh?"

"That very cold Russian night club. Surely you don't party so often that you forgot all that body paint?"

She was smirking, but Steve was a little bit freaked out. "You were there? I didn't see you."

She nodded. "I was following a target."

He snorted. "Is that code for getting drunk? There's no way you kept track of someone in that place without – you know – dancing on them."

Her smile was a slow, curling thing. "Is that what _you_ were doing? You're an efficient assassin Steve, which target was the brunette?"

He smiled a little, looking down at his shoes. "Classified, Romanov."

That morning, he'd woken up to Tony buried into his side, sleeping peacefully for once. Steve had stretched, and the motion had made Tony scrunch his eyes open and smile blurrily at him. He hadn't been able to help himself when he'd wrapped his arms around Tony's waist and pulled him up against him. They'd stayed that way for a while before Steve got up and got ready for work.

Before, he'd felt like he'd been falling too fast and hard for a man who wasn't capable of the kind of relationship Steve wanted. Like there was a steel wall between himself and Tony, and that he'd never be able to fully reach him. But Tony was a hell of a lot more adaptable than Bruce had given him credit for. Sure he had his secrets and his demons, but Steve did too – he lied to Tony, every single day, about how he _killed_ people _for a living._ That wasn't something you could just _fib_ about and not be considered some kinda fucked in the head.

But they were coming together, closer and deeper every day, and Tony was opening up for him like a flower. They were both messed up people, and neither of them knew the half of the other's darkness, but they _worked anyway._

"M-hmm. What's his name?"

Steve's grin widened a little. "Tony."

"Is he still with you? You should bring him around to SHIELD, let him meet the parents." It was a joke, so Steve laughed, but the idea chilled him to the core, just like she knew it would. She had an evil glint in her eye.

"Not…no. Nope."

This got a (genuine?) chuckle out of her. "Then we'll have a movie night, Clint and Coulson and I, and you can bring him around and pretend we're just normal friends. I'd like to meet him."

She meant it, he could tell, and Steve felt a sudden, huge rush of affection for her. Under that stony chameleon exterior, Natasha cared and wanted to meet the man who obviously meant a lot to Steve. He smiled. "That sounds great, Nat. Name a date and I'll bring him around."

Later that day, Fury and his stink-eye assigned Steve and Natasha to track down their mysterious hacker, who was still showing up in their mainframes, checking SHIELD's weapons specs every week on the dot. Steve still believed smarts of that caliber could come in handy on their side, but Fury ordered the two of them to assassinate their target anyway.

Natasha met his eyes, expression bland. "Steve isn't very familiar with computer programming or software, but our hacker's work is obviously highly sophisticated, otherwise we would've apprehended them already. I hope you're not expecting this to be a one-weekend assignment, Fury, because you'll be disappointed."

Fury pursed his lips. "Well it goes without saying then, don't waste your expansive window of opportunity by slacking. Because once that window closes, I _will_ be angry."

Steve frowned a little. "How wide is our window?"

Natasha responded instantly. "At least six months."

Fury's already-wide eye grew bigger, and he looked ready to object before he visibly reigned himself in. This was _Romanov_ after all – her estimate was going to turn out accurate, give or take a week. Fury nodded.

"Six months it is. Keep me posted on progress, I want reports from the both of you every two weeks."

Steve didn't think much on his new assignment. He was much more focused on tomorrow, when he could see Tony again and give him that shower sex he'd promised him.

Bucky answered the door a minute after Steve knocked, looking like he'd lost a fight with his own pillow. The bedhead was almost a diagnosable condition and he had his shirt on backwards. He rubbed his eyes as he held the door open.

"Steve?"

He smiled. "Can I come in?"

Buck swung the door open all the way in reply, turning and leaving Steve to follow him as he lumbered toward the kitchen. Two turkey sandwiches and some small talk later, Bucky sat down next to him at the dining table next to him.

"So what're you doin' here? You seem happy as shit."

Steve beamed at him. "I think I love her, Buck."

Bucky blinked, mid-bite, and swallowed before he responded. "Sharon?"

He nodded, grinning like a maniac. Bucky looked happy for him, but a little bit analytical. He cocked his head.

"What made you reach this conclusion, Stevie?"

He took a deep breath, unable to keep the smile off his face. He leaned forward, looking Bucky in the eye. He kept his voice low. "I told her. About SHIELD."

His friend's brown eyes grew huge. "You _what?_ "

Steve felt his breath quicken, excited just thinking about it. "I told her about what I do, my job and everything – I mean I tried to avoid the gory details, but I told her that I work for a secret organization branched from the U.N. and that I eliminate United Nations enemies and threats and all that. And she – I mean it was a shock, I could see it on her face, but she didn't leave me. She didn't even leave my house or anything when I told her, she just nodded and took a second and then started asking more questions about it. We talked about it for a while and – and she's okay with it. I _told_ her I work for _SHIELD,_ and she's okay with it."

Bucky smiled. "That's awesome, Steve. But – wait, where does the love part come in?"

Steve leaned in toward him again, his voice soft. "You remember all that time ago, when I talked about loving Tony, because he was normal in the way that I never could be? Like he had a normal job, and didn't kill people for a living and shit."

Bucky nodded, brows furrowed. Steve looked down.

"Well, turns out he wasn't normal at all. Not only did he have all that fucked up stuff that happened to him – which did _not_ make me love him _any_ less, don't get me wrong – but Malibu Point was just his day job. He was a hacker, a _really_ good one. Well, is. He –" Steve sighed, lowered his voice. This was classified shit, after all. "He hacked SHIELD."

Bucky gasped. " _What the fuck!"_

Steve shook his head. "Yeah, so we were – lying to each other, for months, about…being professional rivals, but on a _lethal_ scale. He was the hacker digging in our weapon specs, I was the agent assigned to kill him, and neither of us even _knew._ "

Buck looked shell shocked. Mouth open, eyes wide. Was he even breathing? " _No fuckin' way._ "

Steve nodded, looking down. He wasn't too sure what Bucky was thinking, beyond being totally caught off guard. He knew it was a lot to take in.

"So…that's why he left. Once he hacked the personal employee files and saw my name, he learned that he was _my target_ specifically. I think – I think he thought I got into a relationship with him just because of my assignment."

Bucky swallowed. "So that you could get close to him and like – kill him in his sleep or something?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I guess. He's smart though, must've realized that doesn't add up once he cooled down. I hope anyway. I mean I had ten opportunities to kill him every single day for months. But he was long gone by the time he woulda cooled down and seen that, probably halfway across the globe by then."

Bucky looked down. " _Fuck."_

And that pretty much summed up the entire predicament, didn't it? It was probably the most supportive thing that could've come from his best friend's mouth about the whole thing. Steve sighed, but there was a warmth there that came from not being alone – he'd _finally_ gotten that shit off his chest.

Secrets had started weighing a ton since Tony. He'd lied about his occupation for an entire committed relationship. Then he'd had to lie about why they'd broken up. Finally he couldn't lie anymore, and he'd just _told_ Sharon everything Tony had had to find out through chance. It had just slipped out sand through his fingers. Impossible to hold onto anymore.

And now Bucky. Who was shaking his head, looking lost. Buck took a deep breath. "And you can't…find him somehow, tell him all this?"

Steve shook his head. "SHIELD's still after him. That would put him in so much danger. Plus, I – I've got something good, with Sharon. I think I've got something really good with her. She's…the _normal_ I thought I had with Tony, but didn't. Does that make sense?"

Bucky looked over Steve's shoulder somewhere, eyes far off. "I guess so. Whatever makes you happy, Stevie. I'll support you no matter what. Just – I don't want you to pick Sharon just because Tony's an impossibility, you know? The woman deserves to be more than somebody's afterthought."

Steve blinked, and felt a sudden surge of irritation. "Of course she's not a fucking afterthought, Buck, what the hell? I _love_ her."

Bucky frowned, but looked a helluva lot calmer than Steve felt. "Then why did a conversation about Sharon turn _back_ into a conversation about Tony?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Bucky shook his head. "Steve, every part of your relationship with Sharon has Tony in it somehow. It's either…she's the opposite of Tony here so you like that, or she's the same as Tony there so you like that. You need to love this girl for _her,_ Steve. This isn't fair to her."

Steve's heart was pounding with fury. "I _do_ love her for her. Sharon is amazing and I am in love with her. Tony's not in my life anymore." Suddenly he couldn't stomach the thought of entertaining this conversation any longer. He stood up and started toward the front door. "And fuck you for assuming otherwise."

"Steve!" he heard Bucky yell, but he'd already slammed the door behind him.

Two days later, it happened.

The day before, Steve had had the best sex of his life _again,_ and his doubts were easing with each passing minute. Tony had seemed loose and easy and open, all the tenseness draining from his eyes and muscles until it was only the tiniest of traces. Still there, but Steve could work with that.

"I gotta tell y'somethin'."

And then there was today.

Steve had come to Tony's apartment, not as planned per se, but at Bruce's request. He said Tony had been texting him some pretty weird shit and he would really appreciate it if Steve would go over and check on him, make sure everything was alright. Steve was already in his car by the time he responded with a yes.

And good thing he hadn't taken his time, because this was the first time Steve had ever been able to _tell_ that Tony was drunk. Which meant he was fucking _wasted._ Tony had a mostly-empty fifth in his hand and he was sitting on the couch looking sort of hunched. All the lights were off when Steve had come in.

"Tony, what's going on?"

Tony shook his head, looking devastated. He was unshaven. "I need to tell you somethin'."

Steve nodded, worry spiking. What had he done? Tony's eyes were bloodshot and he had on the same clothes that he'd worn when he left Steve's house yesterday.

"Okay. Tony, what happened?"

Tony shook his head again, looking down. "I couldn't – I really like you, Steve."

Steve's heart was thudding dully in his ears. "What happened, Tony?"

Tony sighed. "And I need to tell y'this so we can keep having sex, you know? No secrets."

 _Oh my god he cheated he cheated what am I even gonna do he cheated –_

"What secret, Tony? You gotta tell me."

Tony looked up finally, and his eyes widened in a surprisingly lucid, intelligent expression. "Woah slow down there, I haven't…done anything stupid. Everything's okay Steve. I mean I think it probably will be, since you're not a bad person…"

The relief that slammed into him left him feeling cold. He took a deep breath, and his brows furrowed. He had no fucking clue what was going on here. He bent down.

"Okay, lemme see that." He grabbed the bottle out of Tony's loose grasp, setting it down on the coffee table before wrapping hands around his boyfriend's upper arms and lifting. Tony rose, shuddering a little and swaying a lot, and then he was standing and leaning heavily against Steve, his forehead buried into his chest.

"Ugh…"

Steve wrapped his arms around his waist. Tony smelled like liquor. "Are you feeling sick?"

Tony shook his head, slowly like he was underwater. "Haven't thrown up from drinking too much since I was twelve."

 _The fuck?_ "You've been drinking since you were _twelve_?"

"Earlier'n that…"

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head. This could wait. "Okay Tony, we're gonna get you changed and into bed, and then if you wanna talk then we can talk, if you wanna sleep then we can sleep. Okay? It'll be up to you."

Tony's body shuddered violently for a half a second, and then he nodded. "'Kay."

Steve tightened his grip and started leading him down the short hallway. Tony's apartment was dark and cluttered with all sorts of random metal parts and half-finished, over-complicated looking machines. He had to weave and step over a lot of weird crap on the way to Tony's bedroom, but Steve supposed that's what he got for dating an MIT graduate. Finally they stepped past the threshold into Tony's room, and Steve lowered him into a sitting position on the bed.

When he took a step back, Tony was scowling and shaking his head, glaring at him.

"What're you doing…?"

The pit in Steve's stomach burst into something more violent when he realized Tony was _suspicious_. Suspicious of Steve's intentions, when Tony was drunk and defenseless in a bed. Images assaulted Steve suddenly, of Tony pinned under someone bigger than him, and he felt murderous.

But right now, he had to be practical. So he cleared the red from his vision and tried to treat Tony like he would a fellow soldier stuck with too many memories and all the quirky fears that came with the package deal. He put his heads up in a placating gesture.

"Nothing. You're okay Tony, I'm not gonna do anything. If you'll let me, I'd like to get you into some pajamas okay?"

Tony considered for a moment, and then his eyes warmed and grew trusting again. His shoulders sagged and he let out a puff of air. "Okay."

Steve kept his motions slow and gentle as he changed Tony over and got them both tucked into bed. Tony folded against him and sighed contentedly, but didn't seem tired yet. So Steve went with the safest line of questioning he could think of, and even then he knew this conversation would get sticky.

"Hey Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you've been drinking since before you were twelve?" He went for a chuckle, but it still sounded forced. "How on earth…"

Tony shifted but stayed pressed up against him. "Yeah, my father drank a lot, so he encouraged it. It was never – I didn't realize that was unusual until years later."

Steve's mouth fell open. "Your _father_ encouraged you as a _child_ to drink?"

"Yeah. It was…good for me I think. I needed it."

Tony was an alcoholic then. Not that there was a whole lot of doubt in Steve's mind, but no one could binge-drink from childhood and _not_ wind up an alcoholic. "Why – you didn't need that, Tony. Did your father tell you that?"

Tony shook his head. "No, he didn't – I mean yeah, he told me a couple times, but that's not why – I really _did_ need it. I wasn't what you'd call a happy kid."

This was so far beyond Tony's off-limits zone. Steve wondered if he should shut this conversation down, wondered if Tony would be furious with him if he found out Steve'd let him divulge this much while obviously not in his right mind. But the questions had lingered for so _long_. The scars on Tony's body left little to the imagination, but Steve wanted to hear him _say_ it. So that it wasn't a mystery anymore. So that he could know, for sure, what to say and what not to, so he could know how to help, so that Tony could be his and not just something illusive and uncharted.

"What do you mean, Tony?"

Tony shifted then, tilted his head up and pinned Steve with a dull look. His eyes were empty of mirth or sadness, like he was about to comment on the weather. "My father beat the shit out of me."

Steve had half expected it, but his whole body went cold anyway. It was like ice water had poured down his back. "What?"

Tony shrugged, looking unconcerned. "My mom left when I was really young, couldn't take the heat I guess. He was an angry drunk, and I was always home, so I mean. Two plus two."

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Before he could speak though, Tony was talking again.

"You're th'only – there's only one other person I ever told, and it didn' go well. But I trust you, and I had to tell you."

His voice came out hoarse. "What – one other person?"

Tony's eyes shuttered and he shook his head. "Don't wanna talk about it. But – now you know. So now I can trust you."

Steve frowned, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Of course you can trust me. I won't – I'm so sorry, Tony."

The corner of Tony's lips quirked up for a half second. "You didn' do anything wrong."

Steve shook his head. His eyes were stinging. "I'm sorry that ever happened to you."

Tony waved his hand. "I left. I've had a good life since I got out."

"Have you –" Steve hesitated, then plowed through anyway. "Have you received any help since you left?"

Tony blinked. "You mean like a shrink?"

Steve nodded. "A therapist, or a counselor. Just someone to talk to."

Tony laughed humorlessly. "Steve, I think I would scare off any shrink I talked to. No, I've handled it fine. Just kept to myself, stayed busy, tried not t'think abut it."

Steve pursed his lips. "Tony, you know there's no shame in talking to someone."

Tony gave him a tiny smile. "I know, that's why I told you."

Steve shook his head. "I meant talking to a professional. I know lots of soldiers who benefitted from therapy. When you experience trauma, it helps to talk about it."

Tony frowned. "I'm not a soldier. I try not to think about it. It makes things more peaceful in my head. My mind is so loud all the time, I don't need that shit adding to the noise."

"But, talking –"

"I just want _peace,_ Steve. I don't want to fight through it."

Steve sighed, then looked at him again. "At least talk to me. Whenever something is bothering you. Or you wake up from a nightmare. Or you're just having a bad day. If I know, I might be able to help."

Tony smiled then, this shy smile that lit up his eyes and was utterly, entirely sincere. "Okay. Will do."

Steve tightened his arms around him. "Good. I'll put you on the therapist's couch and everything. I'll make it feel like the real deal."

Tony snorted, pushing him away playfully. "Nah, I can think of much more productive things to do on my couch than talk about my daddy issues."

Steve smirked. "That so?"

Tony's eyes darkened. "Oh yes, soldier." Then the darkness went away and he let out a surprised little noise when Steve planted a soft, entirely chaste kiss on his forehead. He pulled back and smiled at him.

"Well you'll just have to wait for tomorrow for that. You're drunk."

"Killjoy. You're cockblocking your _own_ cock right now."

Steve grinned. "Too bad."

He looked into Tony's eyes for something, he wasn't sure what. Past the drunken attempt at nonchalance, he saw relief there. Steve reached up, and grabbed his face gently between his hands.

"Thank you for telling me this. For trusting me."

He saw his jaw tighten for just a moment, and then Tony's eyes misted. He didn't look away, though. "'Course, muscles. Anything for you."

Steve smiled, his own eyes watery. "Anything for me?"

All the lightness left Tony's face. "Anything."

They fell asleep like that, pressed against each other, the smell of scotch between them. As Tony's breathing evened out, Steve kept his fingers in Tony's hair, their limbs tangled together, and he thought about what this meant. Tony was cracking open for him. He didn't know everything, but he was starting to get an idea. Of who Tony was before he'd met him. Of all the things he'd experienced. It painted a dark, noxious picture.

But Steve could no longer ignore the glaring fact that he was in love with this man.


End file.
